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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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•lOX                                 UX                                 18X 

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2SX 

30)( 

} 

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24X 


28X 


32  X 


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cet 

de  vue 
je 

ition 
ues 


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et  de  haut  en  bas,  sn  pranant  le  nombre 
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^VTHORl;^ED  EDlriON. 


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Mt  ITbrec  Eycellent  ^rienfta  an^  JBrotber  poets 

George  Murray 
William  McLennan  and 
William  Henry  Drummonb 

this  first  english  book  of  mine  is  cokhiali.y 

AND  THANKFl'LLY   nEPICATEll 

I,.    V. 


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PREFACE 

A  MERE  glance  at  most  of  the  stories 
-^  which  compose  this  collection  will  con- 
vince anyone  that  the  author  is  not  an  Eng- 
lish writer.  It  may  be  added,  moreover,  that 
he  entertains  no  ambition  of  ever  becoming 
one.  In  his  opinion,  it  is  a  sufficiently 
difficult  task  to  learn  how  to  master  one's 
own  mother  tongue. 

Then,  why  publish  this  book  which  is 
unavoidably  defective,  at  least  as  regards 
phraseology  and  style? 

In  writing  it,  I  had  two  objects  in  view. 
The  first  was  to  find  a  new  mode  of  recreation, 
and  the  other,  to  do  something  to  popularize, 
among  exclusive  English  readers,  this  portion 
of  the  American  soil  called  French  Canada, 
with  the  characteristic  features  that  she  bor- 
rows    from     her     sui    generis     climate,     and 

especially   from    her    people,  whose   language, 

vii 


! 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

manners,  customs,  traditions,  and  popular 
beliefs  bear  an  exceptional  stamp,  and  must 
thereby  be  invested  with  a  peculiar  interest 
in  the  eyes   of  the  surrounding  populations. 

To  attain  this  last  object,  I  have  tried,  in 
a  few   pen    sketches,  to  convey   some   idea    of 
the  wild   rigor   of  our   winters,  by  putting,  in 
turn,  face   to  face  with  them,  our  valiant   pio- 
neers  of   the    forest,   our    bold   adventurers    of 
the  North-VVest,  and  our  sturdy  tamers  of  the 
floes,  whose  exploits  of  the  past  are  gradually 
being   forgotten    in    the    presence   of  invading 
progress.      I  have  endeavored  to  evoke   some 
of  the    old    legends,    to    bring    back    to    life 
some  picturesque  types   of  yore,  whose  idiom, 
habits,    costumes,   and    superstitious    practices 
have  long  ago  disappeared,   or   are  disappear- 
ing   rapidly.        In     the     meanwhile,     I    took 
pleasure   in     leading    the    reader   to    some   of 
our  country  abodes,  into  the   settler's  isolated 
cottage,  into  the  well-to-do  farmer's  residence, 
beyond  the  threshold  of  our  villagers,  inherit- 
ors   of    their   forefathers'   cordial   joviality.       I 
have    also   invited    the   stranger   into   some   of 
our  city  homes,  initiating  him  into  our  family 

viii 


Preface 


life,  into  our  intimate  joys  fnd  sorrows,  and 
introducing  him  occasionally  to  some  old  and 
pious  guardian  of  our  dear  national  traditions. 
This  I  have  done  with  n.  .ther  concern  than 
to  strike  the  right  key,  to  place  the  groups 
in  their  natural  light,  and  to  draw  each 
portrait  faithfully. 

Are  these  pictures  in  any  way  interesting? 
I  can  claim  for  them  at  least  one  merit: 
that  of  being  true. 

But  why  should  I  have  penned  these 
sketches  in  more  or  less  awkward  English, 
when  it  was  so  simple  to  write  them  in 
French,  and  so  easy  to  secure  a  good  trans- 
lation from  some  experienced  critic,  familiar 
with  the  beauties  and  literary  resources  of 
the  English  language?  The  reason  is  no 
mystery:  a  translation  would  not  have  been 
my  own  work,  and  I  would  have  missed  my 
first  aim,  that  of  securing  a  few  weeks  of 
pleasant  recreation. 

I  always  read  with  renewed  interest  the 
French  stanzas  addressed  by  Longfellow  to 
his  friend,  Professor  Agassiz.  The  effort  is 
apparent,  no  doubt ;    but  there  is  a  charm  in 


(' J  : 


I 

I' 


ife'' 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

the  effort  itself.  Surely,  the  recipient  of  this 
humoristic  poem  would  have  understood 
equally  well  some  English  effusion  from  the 
pen  of  the  great  poet;  but  nobody  will 
believe  that  the  satisfaction  would  have  been 
the  same  on  either  side.  As  for  Longfellow, 
he  perhaps  felt  more  enjoyment  in  accom- 
plishing that  tour  de  force,  than  in  writing 
some  of  his  world-renowned   masterpieces. 

After  this  honest  acknowledgment,  it 
only  remains  <br  me  to  tender  my  thanks 
to  the  distinguished  artist,  Mr.  Frederick 
Simpson  Coburn,  who  was  good  enough  to 
seek  inspiration  in  my  little  stories,  and  to 
take  advantage  of  them  to  give  the  public, 
once  more,  proofs  of  the  skilfulness  of  his 
pencil,  and  of  his  ability  to  interpret  the 
different  national  Canadian  types. 

L.  F. 


I 


.  ■?<* 


i 


CONTENTS 


Voix   DE    Noel 

On  the  Threshold   - 

Santa   Claus'  Violin 

A   Godsend 

In  a   Snow   Storm 

Little   Pauline 

The   Christmas   Log 


Paob. 

I 

3 
i8 

34 
80 

98 
"3 


ii  ti 


XI 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 


Jeannette    - 

The   Phantom    Head 

OUISE 

The   Horseshok 

Tom   Cariboo 

Titange 

The   Loup-Gakol' 


PAQK 

169 
184 

202 
223 
241 


XII 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page. 
"V'la    l'bon   vent!    V'i.a  i. 'joi.i  vent!" 

Frontispiece. 

"Our    Days    Passed   in   Continual  Tra- 
vel,"        .... 

'  ■         -         -  -        lO 

"Clasped   the    Insensible    Wood,"      -  ,6 

"We   were  Somewhat  Late  in  arriving 

at   St.   Joachim,"     -        -        -        .      84 
xiii 


ill 


I 


Christinas  in  French  Canada 

I'AUK 

"  All    Pierre's    Couplets    and    Refrains 

WERE     CONE    THROUGH,"  -  -  g6 

Aunt  Lucv         -        -        -        -        - 


Pauline 


I  CO 


103 


"  To   Kiss   your   Brow   and    Bless   your 

uttle   great    Heart,"    -        -        -     ua 


Christening  the   Christmas   Log 


124 


Dictated   Word    for     Word     by     his 

Spoilt   Pet," 136 


'44 
'5° 

1^2 


"  It  was   a    Hard   Calling," 

Old   Baron  ..... 

At  Uncle  Vien's        .... 

'•  I    Bring   You  Back  a    Little   Saint,"       178 

"  After    which     it    was    the    Bear    we 

had   to   Drag  to    ihe  Camp,"        -    ^16 

"Tom   Cariboo   began   to   Descend,"       -     221 

xiv 


■-imtitamiar 


UWPii-''  "TWiaiiiMHJatKB 


96 


Illustrations 


rAOK 


"  LOOKEP      I.IKE      A      KrITTKR      OUT     OK     THE 

Fpyinc.    Pan," 225 

**  EvEKV  Christmas  Kve  there  is  always 

A  NICE  Dancing  Hop,"        -        -  228 

"  Beyond     the      Pointe-aux-Bapteinnes, 

God   is    Nowhere,"  -        -         -     232 

"Joachim    Crete   was    Proprietor    of    a 

Mill," 247 

"  Look  here,  Joachim,  if  \ou  want  a 
Place  in  my  Berlot  there  is  one 
for  you," 252 


"And    He    Fell  on    his    Knees," 


258 


"W^ 


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XV 


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Le  lourd  battaiit  defer  boitdit  dans  tair  soiwir, 
Et  le  bronze  en  ritnieiir  Sraiile  ses  essieux  ,   ,   . 
Vo/ez,  (loihes  !  grondez,  daniez,  tonnez  encore  ! 
Chantez  paix  siir  It  terre  et  gloire  dans  les  cieux  ! 


( 

I 

r 


Sous  les  domes  ronflanls  des  vastes  bmilupiesy 
Vorgiie  n'paud  le  flot  de  scs  accords  pitissants, 
Moulez  vers  I'Elcrnely  beaux  hynuies  synibolii/iies ! 
Montcz  arvc  raiinun-,  l.i  /rnre  et  I'cncens  ! 


hm 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 


A  vos  accenh  joyeux  laissez  prcidre  Pessor; 
Lancez  vos  clairs  noels :  U.-haut  ks  petits  anges 
Pom-  vo„s  accompagner  pemhent  kurs  harpes  d'or. 


Blonds  ch^ruhins  chantanl  a  la  l„e„r  dcs  cierges, 
Voix  d-airuin,  hn.Us  sacn<  .j„c  Ic  d,d  ,nfn,e  entend, 
Sain:e  musujue,  a,t  moius,  gardez  chastes  et  vierges, 
Pour  a.u-  ,jui  „c  aoicntplns,  les  Idgendes  d'antan! 


I 


ff'-" 


^! 


I 


•Ill 


^ 


^ 


ON  THE  THRESliOLD 


SS^^KSSS 


E  were  on  our  way  from 
Montreal    to    Quebec, 
and  during  the  evening 
the  Httle  group,  gath- 
ered    on     the     deck    of     the 
steamer,    had     fallen     into    a 
discussion     chiefly     on     literary 
topics. 

Of  course  some   of  us,  (con- 
vinced  or   pretended   pessimists),  did   not   fail 

3 


ft . 


smtt^  ■ 


Cliristmas  in  French  Canada 

to  declare  our  modern  progress,  exemplified 
in  trade,  practical  science,  and  industry,  to 
be  the  inveterate  enemy  of  all  that  was 
ideal.  According  to  them,  steam,  electricity, 
and,  above  all,  the  spirit  of  Commercialism 
had  killed  Poetry:  the  Eiffel  tower  was 
her   funeral    monument. 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  one  of  the  little 
audience,    whom     the    debate    had    attracted, 
in     the     easy    fashion    which    rules     amongst 
travellers,    "pardon    me,   but   you   are    simply 
uttering    flat    heresy.     Poetry   will    never    die 
so   long   as    there    is    a    heart    beating    in    a 
man's   breast.       The    ideal    is    within   oneself, 
rather  than  in  the  world  without.     That  which 
passes    generally   for   the   most    commonplace 
object  may,  according  to  circumstances,  assume 
a    glorified    aspect,   or    create    an    impression 
similar  to  that  produced  by  lyrical  or  sentimen- 
tal   poetry   of  the    most    elevated    description. 
All   depends   on    the  state   of  the    mind,    and 
above  all  on  the  point  of  view  of  the  beholder. 

"  Take  my  experience,  for  instance :  the 
most  poetic  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  that 
which    moved   and   sliired  my  soul   with   the 

4 


''I 


On  the  Threshold 


1. 


most  vivid  and  profound  feeling,  was  an  object 
so  utterly  con"xmonplace  that  none  of  you,  I  am 
sure,  would  ever  think  of  supposing  it  capable 
of  evoking  the  slightest  emotion.  It  was 
nothing  more  or  less  than  a  simple  telegraph 
pole." 

"  A  telegraph  pole?     Oh,  come!  " 

"  Seriously,  gentlemen  ;  I  am  not  chaffing. 
Let  me  tell  you  my  story,  and  you  shall  judge." 

The  speaker  was  a  Canadian  of  French 
descent,  strong  and  active,  although  well  in 
the  sixties,  with  an  energetic  face,  a  piercing 
eye,  a  well  modulated  voice,  and  the  accent  of 
a  man  of  education. 

We  eagerly  pressed  him  for  his  story,  and 
without  further  preamble  he  began  : 

Gentlemen,  I  passed  twenty-two  years  of 
what  I  may  call  my  youth  in  a  part  of  our 
country  little  known  at  that  time,  but  which 
has  been  widely  heard  of  since — the  Klondike. 

No  one  then  dreamt  of  digging  in  that 
frozen  soil  for  either  nuggets  or  yellow  sand. 
The  sole  industry  in  those  regions  was  the  fur 
trade.  The  wild  treasures  we  sought  were  to 
be  obtained  neither  by  pick  nor  cradle,  but  by 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

traps  and  rifle,  whether  in  our  r)\vu  hands  or  in 
those  of  the  natives  who  frequented  our  trading 
posts. 

I  would  not  alhide  to  the  circumstances 
which  led  me  there,  were  they  not  so  sugjjestive 
as  to  the  state  of  mind  I  was  in  when  the 
incidents  of  my  story  took  place.  Here  they 
are  in  a  few  words. 

I  was  born  at  Riviere-Ouelle.  My  father 
died  while  I  was  yet  at  college,  and  my  mother 
married  a  second  time  some  two  years  later. 

When  I  finished  my  course,  my  mother 
wished  me  to  enter  one  of  the  professions, 
which  would  have  suited  me  well  enough ;  but 
this  called  for  certain  economies  at  home,  which 
my  step-father,  with  whom  I  had  but  little  in 
common,  determinedly  opposed.  Out  of  this 
arose  discussion,  misunderstanding  and  strife  ; 
in  short,  an  impossible  existence  for  either  my 
mother  or  myself 

My  poor  mother  I  she  had  suffered  from  my 
presence  ;  she  was  to  weep  over  my  absence. 

Just  because  I  loved  her  .so  tenderly,  I  could 
not  endure  the  thought  that  I  was  a  cause  of 
distress    to    her.       The    only    remedy    was    my 


t: 


On  the  Threshold 


immediate  and  permanent  separation  from 
her,  and  I  took  the  first  opportunity  to 
apply   it. 

It  presented  itself  in  an  offer  from  the 
Hudson's  l^ay  Company  to  engage  in  their 
service.  So  I  left  home,  and  started  for 
the  North-West  and  the  far  off  borders  of 
Alaska,  with  a  party  of  adventurous  youths 
like    myself. 

I  shall  not  dwell  on  my  wanderings 
and  the  life  I  led  at  the  different  posts 
where  I  was  stationed.  Ah  !  I'll  answer  for 
it  that  any  of  those  who  think  modern 
civilization  too  commonplace  would  have 
found  there  full  opportunity  to  modify 
their  opinion  that  primeval  savagery  is 
primeval    poetry. 

Of  the  necessities  of  life  there  was  no  lack  ; 
but  those  thousand  and  one  little  luxuries,  those 
trifling  refinements  which  make  the  charm  of 
life,  were  not  to  be  dreamt  of.  Of  work  there 
was  plenty,  and  of  the  hardest,  most  exacting 
kind.  But  only  at  certain  seasons.  And  hov/ 
to  spend  the  time  during  the  rest  of  the 
year?       Books    were    rare.       What    could    we 


r 


\' 


I 


ii 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

invent  to  kill  the  awful  monotony  of  the 
weary  and  interminable  winter,  face  to  face 
always  with  the  same  companions,  and  only 
able  to  mark  the  jjassin^r  of  the  clays  by 
the  short  appearance  of  the  sun  above  the 
horizon  ? 

No  news  from  home!  Cut  off  from  the 
outside  world  during  twelve  long  months  every 
year  !  Only  one  )-carly  mail,  which  arrived  in 
the  summer  season,  and  that  was  all.  Imagine 
twcnt)--two  years  of  such  an  existence! 

At  length,  during  the  autumn  of  1876,  the 
belated  mail  contained  for  me  two  pieces  of 
news  which  brought  me  singularly  closer  to  my 
old  life  and  country.  The  one  was  that  my 
step-father  was  dead,  and  that  my  poor  mother, 
now  old  and  infirm,  was  living  only  in  the  hope 
of  my  return.  The  other  was  that  the  newly 
constructed  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  had  just 
reached  Calgary,  from  thence  to  take  a  leap  • 
over  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

I  was  then  at  Fort  Yukon,  on  the  Yukon 
River,  300  miles  to  the  northwest  of  Fort 
Reliance,  now  famous  as  Dawson  City.  I 
was  free   to   leave.     A    Sioux,   who  knew    the 


, 


On  the  Thresliold 

country  and  was  returning  to  Kclmonton,  would 
serve  as  guide ;  with  my  iieart  throbbing  with 
impatience  I  hastened  my  preparations  for 
departure. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  morning  of  the  first  day 
of  November  saw  me  with  my  Indian,  both  of 
us  on  snow  shoes,  ascending  the  frozen  Porcu- 
pine river,  one  man  in  front  of,  and  the  other 
following  a  long  toboggan  laden  with  provisions 
and  baggage,  drawn  by  four  stout  Esquimaux 
dogs.  We  were  en  route  for  Fort  Lapierre,  a 
good  250  miles  to  the  East. 

We  would  then  cross  the  Rockies  to  reach 
Fort  McPherson,  seventy  miles  through  a  pain- 
ful labyrinth  of  torrents,  of  precipices,  of  threat- 
ening rocks,  of  glaciers  and  towering  peaks. 
For  the  poetry  of  savagery  there  was  the  scene. 
But  I  can  assure  you  one  was  thankful  to  Provi- 
dence when  the  poetic  became  less  dominant 
and  sank  into  comfortable  and  less  dangerous 
prose. 

Leaving  Fort  McPherson  we  had  to  follow 
Peel  river  for  about  100  miles,  when  another 
hundred,  of  prairie,  streams  and  portages,  led 
us  towards  Fort  Good  Hope  on  the  Mackenzie, 

9 


I 


■■f 

1 1 'I' 


ii 


IM   .' 


I    :l( 


S!t?-^Sr»,y  iliwii'imw'u'i ' 


CliristniJLs  in  French  Canada 

which  we  ascciuiccl   to  the  Great  Shive  lake,  a. 
round  of  600  miles  this  time. 

From  Great  Slave  lake  our  course  was  a 
straifrht  line  across  the  prairie  to  Athabaska 
Landing,  our  last  station  before  reaching 
ICdmonton — another    march    of    at    least    500 


"  UKi'  days  /•assccl  in  loiituut.tl  liai\l. 

miles.  No  pleasure  jaunt,  that,  nor  a  journey 
to  be  undertaken  lightly,  as  you  see.  But  even 
longer  and  harder  stages  may  be  faced  with 
a  light  heart  when  loved  ones  await  at  the 
goal. 

Our     days     passed     in     continual     travel, 


, 


vmrnmsm 


wmmmmm 


On  tlio  Threshold 

interrupted  only  by  halts  for  the  mid-day  meal. 
In  the  evening-  \vc  camped  wherever  sufficient 
wood  offered  for  our  fire.  Whcr,  I  say  we 
camped,  it  is  only  a  form  of  speech,  for  the 
camping  was  reduced  to  a  very  simple  cere- 
mony. First  of  all  the  dogs  were  unharnessed 
and  served  with  their  rations  of  frozen  fish — for 
the  dogs  must  be  taken  the  greatest  care  f  as 
thi  V  are  the  most  precious  possession  on  such 
a  journey ;  after  which,  the  fire  being  well 
lighted,  we  boiled  our  kettle. 

Yes,  ,ve  supped  in  open  air,  behind  any  kind 
of  shelter,  and  oftentimes  without  any  shelter  at 
all,  right  in  the  ndnd  and  the  snow  drift.  After 
supper,  we  had  to  dry  our  furs,  damped  by  the 
exertions  of  the  day ;  then  we  smoked,  and  at 
last  stretched  ourselves  on  the  snow  between  a 
bear  skin  and  a  blanket  made  of  netted  hare 
fleece,  with  our  guns  close  beside  us — and 
bonsoir,  catnarade  ! 

With   the   exception    of   our    halts   at   the 
various  forts  and   trading  posts   where  we  put, 
in  a  day  of  rest  well  earned  and   much  needed 
we  lodged  thus  every  niglit  a  la  belle  etoile,  up 
to  the  twenty-fourth  of  December  when  we  had 


\ 


\  \\ 


^  w 


"'^'^^SStSiiawJifewotbiJittiaaB 


f 


I 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

counted  on  making'   Athabaska  Landinfj  early 
in  the  afternoon. 

I  had  contrived  a  little  bone  calendar  for 
myself  in  the  shape  of  a  horse-shoe,  in  which 
small  pegs  served  to  mark  the  date  of  the 
month  and  the  day  of  the  week.  Thus  I 
had  kept  track  of  time,  and  despite  cold  and 
fatigue,  I  felt  cheered  and  comforted  at  the 
thought  of  passing  the  holy  Christmas  Eve— 
that  feast  dear  above  all  others  to  the  family 
—in  company  with  those  of  my  own  kind, 
beneath    a  Christian   roof. 

Unfortunately,  this  fond  desire  of  mine  was 
not  to  be  realized.  Since  early  morning  heavy 
snow  had  set  in,  driven  by  a  strong  north-east 
wind,  which  rendered  our  march  slow  and 
difficult.  By  noon  we  were  in  the  centre  of 
a  bewildering  storm,  through  which  we  could 
not  see  ten  paces  ahead. 

Good  Quebeckers  imagine  they  know  some- 
thing of  a  winter  storm.  It  would  be  cruel  to 
send  them  to  the  confines  of  the  North-West  to 
find  they  have  not,  in  reality,  the  slightest  idea 
of  what  it  is. 

In  those  remote  regions  it  is  simply  a  thing 

12 


SS^^S 


-I— ^^ 


On  tho  Threshold 

of  horror.  It  buffets  and  chokes,  blinds  and 
freezes  one.  Footing'  is  lost,  one  stunibl'js  at 
each  step  and  cannot  breathe ;  all  sense  of 
distance  or  direction  is  lost.  Then  nothing 
serves  to  guide ;  the  sun  itself  shows  only  a 
feeble,  diffused  glimmer  through  the  thickness 
of  the  air.  Even  the  compass  fails,  and  one 
staggers  on  at  random,  feeling  the  wa)-,  stiffened, 
panting,  half  drowned  in  the  furious  bursts  and 
rage  of  the  tempest. 

Had  I  not  been  so  bent  on  gaining  the  fort 
that  day,  we  might  have  squatted  down  in  some 
ravine,  behind  the  shoulder  of  some  protecting 
rise,  under  a  bush — anywhere  at  all — where  the 
storm  might  spend  its  fury  over  out  heads ;  but 
I  was  obstinately  determined  ncjt  to  camp  in 
the  open  that  Christmas  Eve,  and  we  went  on 
stumbling  ahead,  even  though  our  dogs  would 
not  stir  without  the  lash  across  their  backs. 

But  all  our  efforts  were  in  vain  ;  the  fort 
seemed  to  retreat  before  us,  and  by  evening  it 
was  clear  we  had  missed  our  way.  We  were  no 
longer  in  doubt  of  that  when  the  snow  ceased 
and  the  clouds  broke  sufficiently  to  let  .us  see 
by  the  stars  that  we  were  wandering  too  far 

>3 


I    illi 


f 


-.i&.4i«.-— -^-r,^ 


-^^^'T^''*'^m'?m^m'nrTF^'-^^'-"'«rrffa 


MM 


S      i 


I 


Christmas  in  Frencli  Canada 

towards  the  West.  To  reach  the  fort  that 
night  was  an  impossibility  ;  there  was  no  help 
for  it.  ^ 

Changing  our  direction,  we  struggled  on  for 
a  kw  hours  longer,  not  so  much  in  the  hope 
of  making  the  fort,  as  of  finding  the  wood 
necessary  for  our  camp,  I  was  literally  broken 
with  fatigue,  and  I  followed  the  dogs,  stagger- 
ing with  nerveless  limbs,  and  with  my  heart 
numb  with  disappointment. 

Suddenly  the  I.idian,  who  was  ahead,  cried 
"  A  tree  !  " 

A  tree!  That  a  tree  !  Standing  by  itself  in 
the  open  prairie?  Impossible!  The  Indian 
must  be  dreaming. 

Nevertheless,  I  slipped  my  axe  from  the 
toboggan  and  joined  him.  Sure  enough,  right 
ni  front  of  us,  was  a  tall  bare  trunk  without  a 
single  branch,  standing  upright  in  the  open 
desert. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  in  astonishment.  But 
suddenly  my  heart  leaped  within  me,  and  I 
gave  a  cry~a  cry  choked  by  a  sob. 

That  bare,  barkless  trunk,  that  lifeless  tree 
emerging  from  the  soil   like  a  lonely  mast  in 


*J''il 


^•^^^ 


On  the  Threshold 

mid  ocean,  had  been  planted    by   man's  hand. 
It  was  a  telegraph  pole  ! 

We    had    passed    Athabaska    Landing   and 
were  on  the  trail  to  Edmonton. 
Can  you  understand  ? 

A  telegraph  pole !  The  advance  sentinel  of 
civilization.  Was  it  not  like  a  friendly  hand 
stretched  out  towards  me  from  the  threshold 
of  my  own  country?  Was  it  not  a  greeting 
from  a  re-discovered  world,  the  welcome  to  a 
living,  cultivated  land,  peopled  by  intelligent 
beings,  by  comrades  and  by  friends?  Was  it 
not     .     .     was  it  not  home  ? 

I  was  re-entering  social  life  after  twenty-two 
long   years   of  exile   in    the    savage    solitude. 
More   than    that,  it  was   almost   a  re-entrance 
into  family  life,   for   that  wire  which    I    could 
hear    humming    above    my   head    was   a   link 
between    n^e   and   the   past;    it   connected    me 
with    my  village,  with    the   paternal    roof  now 
dearer   to    me   than   ever,   with    my   poor    old 
mother,  to  whom  I  almost   imagined    I   could 
send  a  cry  of  joy  and  comfort  despite  the  weary 
3,000  miles  that  still  lay  between  us. 
Can  you  understand  ? 


'/I 

1 

j 

1 

■ 

1 

I' 

1 

ii»  Vi 


^v: 


II 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Ah!  but  to  realize  what  I  n^ean,  you  n.ust 
have  felt  ,t  all  as  I  did.  Lost,  as  I  wa,  under 
an  arct,c  sky,  in  the  midst  of  a  frozen  desert 
w.th  all  the  memories  of  the  holy  Christmas' 
Eve  u.  my  despairing  heart,  my  brain  reeled 
before  the  unexpected  symbol  of  intercourse, 
of  fellowship,  of  civilization  ! 

Before  the  staring  eyes  of  my  companion   in 
m-cry,  who,  terrified    by  the  weird  song  of  the 
-re   which    vibrated     in    the    sweeping   .ind, 
tammered    '.  Manitou !     Manitou!"     I     sprang 
forward    with    outstretched    arms,   clasped     the 
-sensible  wood,  fell    on    my  knees,  and    burst 
mto  tears. 

That  is  my  story,  gentlemen.     We  camped 
'ha.   n,gl„    fireiess  and    ,,.pperle,,s,   crouchL, 

round  the  pole;  and  through  my  dreams, I,: 
vo,ce  of  the  wire  boomed  and  rang,  bearing  to 
me,  now  the  sacred  hymns  of  the  midnight 
service,   now  the  carillon  of  the  distant   bells 

ot  La  Riviere-Ouelle. 

Take  my  word  for  it,  I  never  attended  such 

a  poetic  midnight  mass  in  the  whoh  of  my  life 

as   that   my   fancy  supplied  in  those  hours  of 

waiting  and  of  hope. 

i6 


Mommmnii  ■1*8-  »<<L^a«;]|>fgim 


""^w'wiw^w^pppilBUPIH 


fmmi 


'"^-^ 


ada 

i  you  must 
was,  under 
:en  desert, 
Christmas 
ain  reeled 
itercourse. 


' 

1  ' 

5 
(    ■ 

1  1 

r 

i 

3anion  in 
ig  of  the 
"g  wind, 
sprang- 
ped  the 
id    burst 

camped 
■ouching 
ims  the 
iring  to 
lidnight 
It   bells 

d  such 
my  life 
)urs  of 


H 


C/ds /)('(/  till'  iiisi'i/s/h/e  inxxl    .    .    .    ,iii(f  hurst 


into  tenn 


';iK>'   1(1 


h    ^ 


mfiM^u-trsumW 


ttmtmmmimm 


i  I 


SI 


f   1   mean,  you  must 

i-ost,  as  1  WHS,  under 

i  c!t\sci-t. 


.  the: 

fny  knees,  and    hurt 


I 


uk 


V 


ia(ia 

.  you  must 

■.  UJidor 

desert, 


I ;' 


'ft  I    ■ ' 


\i 


md   bur- 1, 


I 


ti 


m 


If 


'-<■  ) 


III*  'li  I 


fill 


1 


die 

of 

of 

thi 

aw 

mc 


I 


$mmmm 


iw»".r»i  ninn.» 


-^jMvl 


i»m**^" 


On  the  Threshold 

No,  no,  gentlemen,  the  spirit  of  Poetry  never 
dies  ;  it  lives  alwajs  in  the  innermost  recesses 
of  our  souls,  and  the  mere  touch  of  those  waves 
of  realism,  which,  in  the  eyes  of  some  people, 
threaten  to  drcnvn  it,  is  often  sufficient  to 
awaken  its  divinest  thrills  and  to  evoke  its 
most  h  art-stirring  melodies. 


'7 


ll 


\  I'l'l 
111 


m 


"ill  ii''\fni?i]i&SSiSmmlii 


m 


SANTA  CLAUS 


^~  -ti?£i*^w&''"' ■■'■^' 


VIOLIN. 


UFFER    me    to   intro- 
duce you  to  a  quiet 
household.   Although 
they  were  not  exactly 
what    may  be   called 
elderly,     the     father 
and  the  mother  were 
no  longer  in  their  first 
youth,  when,  after  one 
year  of  marriage,  blessed 
by  the    Angel    of  happy 
loves,  little   Louis  was  born. 
He  was  a  charming  baby,  pink  and  white, 
with    large    black    eyes,    full   of  dreams.      His 

mother  rocked  him   almost  incessantly  in   her 

i8 


xl 


wm 


Santa  Claus'  Violin 

arms,  with  tremors  of  wild  joy,  and  his  father 
watched  his  sleep  at  night,  for  hours  together, 
awalcened  by  hauntings  of  happiness  and 
paternal  pride. 

The  child  grew  up  and  developed  under 
this  double  effusion  of  tenderness,  just  as  some 
delicate  plant  unfolds  beneath  the  warm  in- 
fluence of  the  sun,  and  the  caress  of  the 
vernal  breeze.  He  grew  up  full  of  grace  and 
gayety,  always  fondled  and  always  adored  ; 
no  crease  of  a  rose  leaf  had  ever  disturbed  his 
sleep,  nor  had  the  lightest  cloud  overshadowed 
the  soft  brightness  of  his  life's  morning.  He 
was  decidedly  charming  ;  his  smile  seemed  to 
radiate ;  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  like  the 
warbling  of  a  bird. 

At  the  age  of  two,  he  made  remarks 
of  profound  ingenuity.  When  he  saw  for 
the  first  time  the  silvery  half-circle  of  the 
increasing  moon,  he  called  out  as  if  in 
pain  : — 

"Quick,  father!  A  hammer  and  nails; 
the  moon  is  broken." 

He  was  at  the  same  time  brave  as  a 
paladin. 

19 


II' 


1     < 


.-S*-^' 


%r 


•mm 


^mm 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"You  must  never  go  to  the  corner  of  the 
street,"   said  his  nurse  to  him  one  d;n'. 
"Why  not?" 

"  Because  there  are  savages  tlierc." 
"Savages?"  he  exclaimed,  with  his  fist  on 
his  hip,  and  a  frown  on   his  brow;    "don't  be 
afraid;    I'll  get  my  sword." 

On  the  other  hand  he  would  sometimes 
lose  himself  for  whole  hours  in  strange 
reveries.  One  evening,  there  was  great  alarm 
in  thi'  house:  the  child  had  disappeared. 
Full  of  anxiety,  they  looked  for  him  vainly 
right  and  left,  in  all  the  rooms,  outside  the 
house,  everywhere.  There  was  no  trace  of 
the  little  one. 

It  was  late  at  night,  and  all  were  beginning 
to  lose  their  heads,  when  some  one  discovered 
the  child,  alone  on  the  balcony,  with  his  chin 
in  his  two  hands  and  his  gaze  lost  in  the 
open    sky. 

"  What    on    earth    are   you    doing    there  ? " 
they  asked." 

"  I  am  looking." 
"At  what?" 

"  Beautiful  star." 

20 


If 


•-^*^JI(|f*^?**- ' 


urmmmtm*' 


ymmm 


Santa  Clans'  Violin 

But  that  which  characterized  him  above  all 
was  his  passion  for  music  :  the  sound  of  a 
flute  called  forth  his  enthusiasm  ;  a.  flourish 
of  trumpets  made  him  start  like  an  electric 
shock,  and  threw  him   into  an  ecstasy. 

Let  us  add,  by  the  wa\',  that  this  sort  of 
frenzy  followed  him  even  to  the  school-benches, 
where,  at  the  age  of  eight  or  nine,  the  blast 
of  a  bugle  or  the  roll  of  a  drum  made  him 
irresistibly  throw  aside  books  and  pencils 
and  fling  himself  into  the  street  without  the 
slightest  thought  of  asking  leave,  to  follow 
the  first  detachment  of  soldiers  that  was 
passing. 

Ikit  as  it  is  with  the  baby  alone  that  we 
at-e  concerned,  let   us   return  to  the  baby. 

If  ever  a  child  was  passionately  loved  by 
his  parents,  it  was  Louis.  But — the  poor 
parents ! — Heaven  had  a  terrible  ordeal  in 
store  for  them. 

The  child  was  now  fully  three  and  a-half 
years  old,  and  his  mother  discovered  that  a 
small  tumor  which  for  two  years  had  been 
forming  in  his  throat,  in  the  region  of  the 
larynx,  was  developing  in  an  alarming  manner. 

21 


mn 


tmmtiim: 


Clnistnuis  in  Freiicl.  Caiia.la 
To   u.e  a   .ecl.nic.l   expression,    „„,   p,,,,,,,,^ 

•""; "  "■■■■»  ""»'  -  -"<-i  in  ..,„„•„, 

phra.seology_„  sebaceous  cyst. 

•As    is    well    l-.,own,    those    serous    bodies 
"■■--•    not    generally    atlende.l    will,    any     real 

'J-g-;   but,  in  this  case,  the  conditions  „.erc 
peculiarly  critical,  o,ving  to  the  pr„.i,ni,y   ,, 

c  r.a,„  del.cate  vessels.  The  operation- 
wl..ch  sooner  or  later  would  be  necessary- 
-J^  ,  .f  inconsiderately  postponed,  becle 
cl.iiigcrous. 

The  paternal  devotion,  after  having  deferred 

«  Z,  r""""  ■"  ""'«  ^»  P--We,  could 
no  he„ta.e  any  further,  and  a  few  days  before 
Ch.  st,nas  the  surgeons  were  sun,moned. 

W,th    terrible    anguish-„eed    we   sav   it  = 
-the  parents  witnessed  the   dreadful  prepara' 
..ons  f.r  what  seeded  to  the.  the  rac'     ^ 
'he  httle  betng   .hey  cherished  so  dearly. 

The   mother,   shut    up   in    her   room,   wept 

every  tear  that   could  flow;    wh,lc   the  fat,  e, 

"  '"P  '''»'--.  -'d  ,vi.h  bleeding  heart    Id 

-  secure   the   poor  K,t,e   one   on   .he    sv t 

Of  an  anaesthetic. 

22 


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Santa  Chius'  Violin 

And  ill  this  way— yes,  in  full  health  .uul 
frolicsome  gaycty,  with  his  e>-es  beamin-r 
and  riiij^rin^r  laut,dUer  on  liis  lips— the  dear 
baby's  wrists  were  seized  ;  and  in  spite  of  his 
strujrgles,  he  was  made  to  inhale  the  loath- 
some drug,  until  he  fell  back,  as  senseless 
and  pale  as  a  corpse,  on  the  table  where 
the  surgeon's  knife  was  awaiting  him. 

Unfortunately,  the  operation  was  ncjt  so 
successful  as  could  have  been  desired.  At 
the  most  critical  moment,  the  child  was 
seized  by  a  convulsive  cough,  and  this  acci- 
dent, impossible  to  hinder,  was  followed  by 
grave  results.  Tiie  cyst,  instead  of  being 
completely  removed,  could  only  be  partly 
extracted,  and  the  wound  harl  to  be  kept 
open    for    the    secretion  whc.     remained, 

by  means  of  suppuration. 

But  we  must  abridge  those  painful  details. 
The  parents,  who  had  sought  refuge  in  an 
adjoining  room,  waited  for  the  result  in  a 
state  of  mind  more  easily  imagined  than 
described. 

"Well?"  they  both  exclaimed  at  the  same 
time,  with   the  sweat  of  agony  on  their  brows, 

23 


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if 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

as   they  rushed    towards   the    family  physician 
who  had  superintended  the  operation.     "Well?" 
"  It  is  all  over,"  he  replied  gravely. 
"  Ah  !  and  then  . .  .  ?  " 

"All    is    going    well,"   he    added,   with   an 
air  and  tone  which  rather  belied  his  words. 

"Ah!     doctor,    doctor,    if    there     is    any 
danger  .  .  . ! " 

"  No,    there    is     no     danger  ...      for   the 
present   at    least.      Only   let   the   mother   arm 
herself  with    courage,    for    unremitting    atten- 
tion   will    be    necessary,    and,    perhaps,    for    a 
long    time-provided    no    complications     arise 
•  .  ■  .  "  he   added    with   a   shake  of  the   head 
betraying    his     uneasiness.      "At    all     events 
fever   has   to    be    warded    off   by    all    possible' 
means.       The    sick     nurse    has     my    written 
prescription.     I  will  come  back   this  evening" 
In  the  evening  the  doctor  came  back. 
He    found    the    poor    parents    in    utmost 
despondency :  a  high  fever  had  declared  itself. 
During   three    long    days    and    three    long 
n.ffhts,  the  little   martyr   lay  between  life  and 
death. 

"If    he    could    but    sleep!  ..."    said    the 
24 


P. 


■5,'C*lgl||J"*4.'' 


Santa  Claus'  Violin 

doctor,   who   no    Ion<rcr    took    any   trouble   to 
conceal  his  anxiety  ;    "  if  he  could   but  sleep  ! 
.    .    .     Sleep    alone    can     save    him ;    unfortu- 
nately,   in    his    present    state    of  weakness,    it 
would    be    exceedingly   imprudent    to   admin- 
ister to  him  any  narcotic.     We  must  wait  for 
everything  from   nature  ....  or  Providence." 
It    was    agony    to    the    poor   mother,   con- 
fined   to   the    bedside   of    her    child.      As    for 
the   father,  he    wandered  distracted   about   the 
house,    wringing    his    hands    and    longing    to 
dash  his  head   against  the  walls. 

His  son!  his  little  darling!  his  idol!  his 
only  child  !  He  accused  himself  of  having 
killed  him,  and  cursed  his  fate  in  a  paroxysm 
of  wild  despair. 

The  child  had  had  no  sleep  for  over  two 
days.  Me  was  insensible  to  all  that  was 
taking  place  aroun^'  him,  and  the  veiled 
glances  of  his  large,  glassy  eyes,  consumed  by 
fever,  wandered  unconsciously  through  empty 
space. 

"To-morrow  is  Christmas-Day,  my  dar- 
ling," said  the  father,  bending  over  the  pillow 
wet     with      his      tears,     and      covering      with 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

passionate     kisses     tiie     burning     little    hand 
wnich  lay  motionless  on  the  bed,  '•  to-morrow 
IS    Christmas-Day,   and    to-night    Santa    Claus 
will    go   his    rounds    distributing    his   presents 
among  the  little  children  who  are  lying  asleep 
Your    new    shoes   are   on    the    hearth-stone- 
there,  just  in   the  next  room-you  have  only 
to  say  what  playthings  you  wish  to  have,  and 
If  you  sleep  soundly,  Santa  Claus   will  bring 
them     to    you.    sure    eiwugh.       Sleep!     wiH 
you  not?" 

And  the  poor  father  turned  away  his  head 
to  hide  his  tears  and  stifle  his  sobs. 

"What  do  you  want  Santa  Claus  to  bring 
you?     Come,  tell   me,  my  treasure." 

"  A  violin!"  replied  the  child,  with  i  gleam 
of  joy  in  his  gaze. 

"  A  violin  ?  Well,  Santa  Claus,  I  am  sure, 
has  some  violins.  Sleep  well,  then,  and  your 
good  Angel  will  tell  him  to  bring  you  a  fine 
one." 

But  the  child  did  not  sleep;  and  the 
doctor,  who  came  to  see  him  several  times  a 
day  was  in  despair. 

"Ah!  if  he  could  but  sleep!  ..."  he  kept 
26 


■■  -rvh^vm^ffw^ma^'-^. 


Santa  Claus'  Violin 


saying. 


"If  he  could    sleep,  were   it  for   one 
hour  only." 

During  the  evening,  the  child  motioned  to 
his  father. 

"What  is  it,  my  dearest?"  said  the  latter, 
leaning  over  the  bed  to  listen. 

"  Can  he  play  the  violin  ?  "  asked  the  child 
in  a  voice  as  feeble  as  a  breath. 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  my  pet?" 

"  Santa  Claus  " 

The  fat?  .  ose  at  once,  tapping  his  fore- 
head. A  -.uicen  inspiration,  an  inspiration 
from  Heaven,  had  just  passed  through  his 
heart  and  brain. 

"Yes,  my  love!"  he  exclaimed,  pressing 
the  feverish  hand  of  the  child  ;  "yes,  my  love! 
Santa  Claus  knows  how  to  play  the  violin. 
He  can  play  it  charmingly,  too  ;  and  if  you 
will  only  sleep,  there,  on  your  little  pillow, 
your  Angel  will  have  him  play  for  you,  and 
you  shall  listen  to  him  in  a  dream.  Oh! 
how  fine  that  will  be  ! " 

And  the  poor  father,  with  a  las^  faint  ray 
of  hope  in  his  soul,  went  out  on  tip-toe,  while 
the   mother,  alone,  knelt  by  the^  other  side  of 

27 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

the  bed,  on  which  the  little  patient  sat 
up,  openincr  large,  steady  eyes  in  the  dim 
light  which  glimmered  through  the  transpar- 
ency of  the  lamp-shade. 

Night  was  coming  on— the  holy  Christmas 
night. 

The    bells    began    to    chime   in    the   lofty 
towers   in    the  distance. 

But  the  child  did  not  sleep. 
The  father,  after  an  absence  of  about  half 
an  hour,  came  in  again. 

"  I  have  just  seen  Santa  Claus  with  his 
basket  full  of  toys,"  he  said,  "and  amongst 
them  I  have  seen  peeping  out  a  jewel  of  a 
violin.  PTe  cannot  fail  to  be  here  in  a 
minute,  for  he  was  just  coming  out  of  a 
neighbouring  house.  Let  us  lower  the 
lights  ;  and  you,  my  darling,  do  shut  your 
eyes,  and  make,  at  least,  a  pretence  to  sleep." 
He  was  interrupted  by  a  slight  noise  that 
came  from  the  drawing-room  close  by. 
"Hush!  it  is  he." 

The  noise  became  more  distinct :  it  seemed 
as    if    some    mysterious     hand    was     secretly 

tuning   the  strings  of  a  violin. 

38 


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Santa  Claus'  Violin 

The  sick  child  gave  a  start,  and  listened 
eagerly.  One  might  have  heard  iiis  little 
heart    beating    in    his   breast. 

Then  followed  a  real  enchantment. 

Sounds  of  angelic  purity  floated  through 
the  silence  of  the  night.  Fragments  of 
melodies  of  unsurpassed  sweetness  rippled 
in  the  air.  Accents  of  infinite  suavity, 
that  seemed  to  emanate  from  the  regions 
of  dreams,  spread  them.selves  in  wandering 
airs  through  the  calm  and  restful  shadow.s  of 
the  room. 

The  hand  of  the  child  trembled  in  that  of 
his  father,  whose  [^aze,  drowned  in  the  twilight, 
watched  with  feverish  interest  the  varied 
phases  of  surprise,  joy  and  melting  emotion 
which  revealed  themselves  in  turn,  on  the 
emaciated    features   of  the   little    patient. 

The  latter  kept  listening. 

For  a  moment  the  invisible  bow  seemed 
to  obey  some  new  inspiration.  The  capricious 
fancies  of  the  prelude  died  away  gradually, 
and  little  by  little,  veiled  themselves  beneath 
the  texture  of  musical  phrases,  assuming  a 
more    definite    character. 

39 


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Clinstmas  in  French  Canada 

Melodies    more   clearly   outlined    began    to 
pour   forth    in    the   sonorous  vibrations   of  the 
instrument,   and    the    ear    could    seize    as    it 
were   on    the   wing   a   whole    series,   or   rather 
an    intertwined    sequence,  somewhat   confused, 
but  still  perfectly   perceptible,  of  those  Christ- 
mas   carols,    so    impressive    in    their    antique 
simplicity-,:he    work    of     unknown    geniuses 
who   knew    so    well    how    to   blend    the    two 
poles   of  human    life   by   causing   at   one   and 
the   same   time,   childhood    to   smile    and    old 
age   to   weep. 

They  all    came   out  in   turn,  the   good    old 
canticles     of     long     ago,     solemn,     but     ever 
full     of    deep    feeling  :_«p,    bergers,    assem- 
blons-nous  !  "—<'  Noiwelle    agrcable  !  "— "  //    est 
n^  le  divin  Enfant !"—"  Dans  cette   etable." 
"  Les  anges  dans  nos  campagnes."  .  .  And  that 
"  Adeste  fidetcs:'   so   broad   in   its  waving  har- 
mony, and  so   thrilling   with  Christian   poetry. 
All    these  melodies  succeeded  one  another, 
fused    in    a    marvelous    whole,   to    which    this 
nightly     scene     of    speechless     grief    lent     a 
charactc-    of    intense     and     ineffable    impres- 
siveness.      At     length     the     child     no    longer 

30 


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Santa  Claus'  Violin 

moved,  no  lonrjer  trembled.  The  external 
world  had  faded  away  for  him:  he  was 
literally   entranced    with   ecstacy. 

By  degrees,  the  sounds  becoming  weaker 
and  weaker  simplified  themselves  into  a 
sequel  of  modulations,  lulling  and  sweet, 
through  which  the  oar  gucssed-almost  heard 
—the  touching  words  of  the  popular  carol : 

Siispeiidaut  kur  saiute  harnwiiie, 
Lcs  ciciix  dloiiii^s  se  son/  tits, 
Car  la  douce  voix  de  Marie 
Chan/ait  pour  eiidormir  /dsus. 


CoA    U.         ^^  -U 


*         -Jfe    ^  .      t.        /X-  A,^ 


tn*n  -A*./  jtnt\  Cfi  VM'Mw.  Z*-  ^H./  '" 


P/%lA    «N  'tUX    m^\Jk-    «tM 


The  father  cast  a  glance  on  his  child: 
two  big  tears  were  flowing  down  upon  the 
little   cheeks. 

Then  it  was  like  the  sighing  of  the  breeze, 
like  the  murmuring  of  flocking  humming  birds', 
like  the  whisper   of  a  stream  amid  the  sedcre. 


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Chiistnias  in  French  Canada 


,   .IS    It    were, 
or 


Witli  the  softness  of  a  caress 
to  the  ear,  tlie  woiuh-ous  vioh'n  sail"' 
rather  sighed  forth  the  artless  cradle-son^t; 
which  had  so  often  sent  the  baby  to  sleep 
in   the  arms  of  his  nurse: 

CV.iV  Ai  poiiletle  giise 
Qua  /<oiidii  (fans  I'l'i^/ise^ 
E/i'e  a  fait  tin  petit  coco 
Pom-  bdhd  qui  va  fairc  dodo  ; 
Dodiche!  dodo!  .  . 


C'uh     /m.  ^i^tUtc  y^-M-y      ^i^.ai^i^/i-^'.  «; 


(lit  i  <^«*j*«-  A/  it-. If  VruA  /i;.U  «».«  «.    A^'  ]ud'  '   sT. 


tiU~ cJu., €(0-- Ma  '    JP<»-«tf '-</*.     iT>-<r>- ' 

The  h'ttle  one  shut  his  eyes,  bowed  his 
head,  and  his  shoulder  buried  itself  softly  in 
the  down  of  the  pillow.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment,  another  head  fell  back  on  the  side 
of  the  little  bed.  It  was  the  poor  mother, 
worn  out  by  her  viijils,  who  sank  to  sleep 
with  a  smile  on  her  lips — a  sniile  of  infinite 
thankfulness  to  God. 

The   father,   all   perplexed   with   hope  and 


»S'!;, 


wmmtmimtmimmmmgmifm 


"m**?p^' 


Santa  Clans'  Violin 


fe^r    rose   as    nofselessly  as  a  ph.-,„,o„    and 
met  the  doctor  at  the  half-opened  door 

hJ*,!-'  "r""  '''   ""'™"'-='''  0""=   beside 
himself;    "he  is  saved,  is  he  noti- 

••They    are    both    saved!"    replied    the 

TJZ:    """^    '    ^-«    '"-    *e    Sic. 

And  in  a  rapture  of  gratitude  the  once 
despamng  „an  burst  in  tears  while  he 
clasped  the  t.o  hands  of  .he  great  artist, 
Jehm-Prume,  who  had  just  replaced  his  violin 
in  Its  case. 


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T   is   a  modest  hotel  in 
Montreal. 

With     his      back 

''    half     turned     to     the 

window    of   his    room, 

palette    in     one     hand,    and 


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ck 
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nd 


A  Godsend 

brush     in     the    other,    a     youn,    painter    is 
fevenshly  at   work   in   front  of  a  small  camp 

On    his    left,  pinned    to    the   frame    of  a 
mirrored  wardrobe,  hangs  an  old  canvas,  about 
twenty  mches  by  thirty,  all  dark  and  tattered 
•n     the     centre    of    which,    through     the    be- 
smoked    tones    of    the    clair-obscures.    appear 
.    the  graceful   form   and   roseate  complexion  of 
an     Infant    Jesus    resting    on    a  cushion,   the 
brow    haloed    by   vague   lights  softly  reflected 
from  the  glossy  twining  of  fair  and  abundant 

right  hand  drop,  and  gazes  at  the  picture 
with  an  intensity  suggestive  of  profound 
admiration ;  and  again  he  resumes  his  task 
his  brush  passing  between  the  mosaic  of  the' 
palette  and  the  canvas  with  an  accuracy  of 
movement  which  reveals  the  skilful  and 
experienced    artist. 

He   is   evidently  painting   a    copy  of   the 
beautiful    Christ   Child. 

But   why  does    he    so    often    consult    the 
modest  silver  watch,  the  old   fashioned  chain 

35 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

of  which  hangs  from  his  waistcoat  pocket? 
This  we  shall  soon  know.  Meanwhile,  let 
us  notice  that  hi.s  glance,  with  an  expression 
of  triumph,  falls  also,  now  and  thL-n,  on  some 
papers  scattered  on  the  small  table  beside 
him,  and  let  us  claim  the  privilege  of  the 
story-teller  to  ascertain  what  of  interest  those 
papers  contain. 

Here  is,  to  begin  with,  a  stained  envelope, 
with  broken  seal,  so  rumpled,  that  it  must 
have  been  opened  many  times.  It  must  also 
have  travelled  a  considerable  distance,  for 
it  bears  a  Canadian  stamp,  and  its  address 
reads  as  follows : 

Monsieur  Maurice  Flavigny, 

* 

Artiste-peintre, 

Paste  Restante, 

Paris,   France. 

Let  us  open  the  letter  and  read  : 

CONTRECOEUR,  November  loth,  1872. 

My  Dear  Son, — A  few  words  in  haste  to  tell  you  how 
happy  your  last  letter  has  made  me  by  announcing'  to 
me  your  approaching  return.  Make  haste,  my  dear 
child.      Alas  1    I   shall    not    be    able  to  see  you,   but   I 

36 


'--^ 


1  *-••.»,.,.. 


IW^W 


A  Godsoiid 

shall  hear  you,  and  I  shall  press  you  to  my  hoar  I,  as 
I  did  a  long-  time  ago. 

I  am  still  the  g-uest  of  Mile.  d'Aubray,  my  little 
Suzanne  whom  I  love  as  a  daughter,  anil  who  is  good 
enough  to  act  as  my  secretary,  since  God  has  d.privod 
me  of  my  poor  sight. 

Come  soon,  will  you  not?  Try  .  '  K;  with  us  by 
Christmas. 

Your  old  mother,  who  longs  i  .  ,  i,.,biace    -•  ni, 

SOPi'i:;    FLAV  GNY, 

There  is  also  a  telegram: 

New  York,  December  aand,  iSja. 
To  Maurice  Flavigny, 

Great   Wcslcm  Hotel, 

Montreal,  Canada. 

If  Murillo  authentic  and  well  preserved,  will  give  ten 
thousand  dollars.  See  agent  Victor  Muller,  4  Little 
Craig  St. 

CORNHILL  &  GRANGER. 

Besides  tiie  telegram,  bearing  the  same 
signature,  but  dated  a  day  later,  is  a  letter 
ordering  a  credit  in  favor  of  Maurice  Fla- 
vigny, on  the  Bank  of  Montreal,  for  ten 
thousand  dollars,  payable  to  the  order  of 
Victor  Muller,  Agent  of  the  firm  of  Cornhill 
&   Granger,   of  New   York. 

37 


ll 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

This  last  letter  the  young  artist  has  left 
open  on  the  table,  within  reach  of  his  eye, 
as  if  to  convince  himself  at  every  turn  that 
he  is  not  the  victim  of  a  delusion. 

Ten  thousand  dollars!  A  small  fortune! 
He  sees  the  paternal  homestead  redeemed ; 
the  good  old  mother  saved  from  poverty; 
and,  for  himself,  the  necessaries  of  life,  even 
an  honorable  and  happy  comfort,  until  repu- 
tation comes  with  its  consequences  in  train. 

He  hardly  can  believe  his  own  eyes. 
Does    he    dream  ? 

H 

And  while  blending  his  colors  and  hastily 
brushing  the  canvai,  Maurice  Flavigny 
reviews  all  the  circumstances  which  have 
lately  favored  him  in  such  an  exceptional 
way,  together  with  the  events  which  preceded 
them. 

He  pictures  himself,  five  years  before  this 
time,  at  the  age  of  eigh  een,  bidding  farewell 
to  his  family,  and  starting  at  random  for  the 
country  of  modern  Art,  in  search  of  that 
science   which    develops    talent,    and    without 

38 


I' 


— JP%,%|:^r:- 


A  Godsend 

which  genius  itself  remains  impotent  and 
bhnd.  He  remembers  his  long-  days  of 
feverish  ambition,  his  weary  nights  devoted 
to  ungrateful  tasks,  the  buffeting  he  encoun- 
tered, his  disappointments,  his  moments  of 
discouragement.  He  recalls  the  selfishness 
of  his  masters,  the  jealousies  of  his  comrades, 
the  humiliations  he  underwent,  and  all  the 
pangs  of  his  wounded  pride.  He  lives  over 
again  his  anguish,  his  doubt,  his  weariness, 
his  home  longing,  oh!  yes,  his  home  longing, 
in  the  heart  of  that  monstrous  city  where,  by 
a  cruel  irony,  all  the  pleasures  seem  to  con- 
spire together  to  invest  one  with  the  sense 
«-f  utter   solitude. 

The  first  two  years  had  been  comparatively 
serene.  Maurice  Flavigny  had  been  hard  at 
work,  striving  conscientiously,  living  modestly 
on  a  small  pension  which  came  from  his 
father— a  country  notary,  proprietor  of  two 
small  farms  which  yielded  but  a  limited 
revenue— and  spending  his  leisure  hours  in 
the  museums,  studying  the  great  masters,  and 
endeavoring  to  learn  from  their  immortal 
masterpieces   the   secret  of   their  inspiration. 

39 


h 


\tr' 


\u 


/•' 


M 


i.i 


( 

\ 

,!   1 

} 

1" 

Ml 
'    ft 

1 

i  ,  i{ 

It  ; 


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It 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

He  made  rapid  progress;  and  already 
glimmering  hopes  began  to  smile  upon  his 
ambition,  when  a  scries  of  casualties  over- 
threw his  fondest  dreams  and  plunged  him 
into   distress   and    despondenc)-. 

Misfortunes  impossible  to  foresee  had 
assailed  the  paternal  home.  Unwise  specula- 
tions had  dragged  the  old  notary  to  complete 
ruin.  And  on  the  very  day  upon  which  the 
house  where  Maurice  was  born  was  sold  by 
judicial  authoritv,  his  father  died  from  grief 
and  apoplex}',  leaving  to  his  heirs  nothin-"- 
but  a  life  insurance  policy  barely  sufficient 
to  prevent  his  wife,  who  had  lost  her  sight, 
from  becoming  an  object  of  jjublic  charity. 

She  had  been  succoured  by  the  young 
school-mistress  of  the  neighborhood,  the  only 
survivor  of  an  old  seigncurial  family,  who  had 
spontaneously  offered  her  the  hospitality  of 
one  of  the  four  rooms  which  constituted  her 
residence  in  the  school-house. 

All  the  details  of  these  cruel  events  had 
been  communicated  to  him  by  the  young 
school-mistress  herself,  who  had  naturally  to 
hold   the    pen    for    her    to  whom   the   saddest 

40 


fe&,.; 


..»•*«  "Sftsswisiias*' 


A  Godsend 

of  infirmities  forbade  all  personal    correspond- 
eiice. 

Deprived  of  the  paternal  pension,  the 
young  painter  had  been  oblijrcd  o  neglect 
his  studies,  and  to  give  himself  up  almost 
exclusively  to  mercenary  labor,  in  order  to  pro- 
cure his  daily  bread.  He  became.  like  many 
others,  the  victim  of  heartless  mercantilism, 
which,  in  Paris,  as  in  other  large  cities, 
speculates  on  needy  talent  and  draws  the 
blood  from  the  veins  of  poor  young  artists 
in   exchange   for   a   morsel   of  food. 

During  two  long  >-cars  he  strove  and  lived 
miserably,  without  even  succeeding,  at  the 
price  of  the  most  enslaving  toil,  in  saving 
the   sum    necessary    for   his   return   home. 

Then  came  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  the 
seige  of  Paris  and  the  horrors  of  the  Commune. 
The  young  Canadian,  full  of  devotion  and 
patriotism,  had  no;,  hesitated;  he  had  vaUc-^tly 
paid  his  debt  of  blood  to  the  great  Mother, 
and  had  been  wounded  at  the  storming  of 
Buzenval,  side  by  side  with  his  master  and 
friend,  Henri  Regneault,  fallen  a'.o  beneath 
the  hail  of  German  bullets. 

4' 


m 


m 


# 


r  '(    ..V 


a 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Then  the  lon^  months  of  hospital; 
and  afterwards  the  harness  resumed,  the 
neck  once  more  bent  to  the  yoke  to 
recommence    the     desperate     task. 

As  he  recalls  these  long  years  of 
d.stress,  of  hardship  and  sorrc.v.  the  young 
pamter  bows  his  head.  ...  a  heart-rending 
expression    of  wee   pervades   his    features 

But  suddenly  his  whole  face  radiate,  with 
a  beam  of  joy.  One  of  his  paintings 
received  and  admi.ed  at  the  Exposition 
bale;  a  nch  amateur;  a  brilliant  sale;  his 
d'.bts  paid,  and  his  return  to  America,  with 
a  future  before  hir.^  at  home,  by  the  side  of 
his   old   mother! 

Unable  to  control  his  emotion,  the  younc^ 
man  paces  up  and  down  the  floor  of  the 
room,  and  then  stops  in  front  of  the  table, 
^azes  for  a  long  time  upon  the  bank  draft 
-real,  palpable,  before  him.  After  which  he 
returns  to  his  work,  murmuring  in  a  tone 
of  supreme   gratitude   to    God  : 

"And   now,   I   am   rich!   .   .    Yes,  rich' 
And    this   after    my   last    resource   had   disap- 
peared,    with    that     unfortunate     pocket-book 

43 


'}  'mm 


A  Godsend 


And  the  brush  still  hastens,  fusing  shadows 

Ight,   t,II   under   the  influence  of    feverish 
3-on  a  ™arve,„„s  intensity  of  iife  flX 
from   tne   canvas,  as  the  work  advance,    and 

.He^p.cture  emerges  radiant,,  from  the  r^r 


m 


>  1.4 

h'4 


n\^ 


III 

But   let   us   leave  the    arti«t   „   u- 

and  relate  the  storv  of  th'  "°*' 

e  story  of  ih.s  lo,,t  pocket  boolc 

Upon  reaching  the  Bonaventure  station  by 
the  dnec.  .rain  from  Ne,v  York,  Maurice 
Flavgny  had  ordered  ,,i»  ,„g„,„;  ""'"' 
;a^en   to   a   neighboring  hotel,  r.^d'"  ad   pa  J 

never  fa,l    ,o   carry  ,n   their   pockets   for   the 
exigences  of  the  /»„*,/«. 

But,     after    reaching    his    room,    the    poor 
fc"-v,    with     a    feeling    of    despair    o„e  'can 

43  ' 


it 


t; 


>U 


\  i: 


ii 


m 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

which  contained  all  the  money  he  had  i-i  the 
world,  was  no  longer  in  his  possession. 

All  search  was  useless.  Maurice  was  the 
victim  of  a  pickpocket,  and  war;  left  with- 
out even  enough  money  to  reach  the  v-llage 
where  he  \vas  impatiently  expected  by  his 
mcrther,  as    poor  as   himself 

Maurice  Flavigny  yielded  to  the  inevi- 
table, wept  si  OMtly,  then  fell  on  his  knees  and 
j.rayed.  i 

The  next  morning  some  one  knocked  at 
his  door. 

"M.  Flavigny?" 
"  That's  my  name." 
"  A  parcel  for  you." 

Much  puzzled,  the  young  man  took  the 
package  and  opened  it.  An  exclamation  of 
joy  burst  from  his  lips.  There  was  his 
pocket-book  together  with  a  parcel  the  size 
of  his  arm,  and  a  letter. 

With  his  hand  trembling  with  surprise, 
Maurice  broke  the  seal,  and  read  the  follow- 
ing extraordinary  epistle : 

Sir, — The    person    who    writes    this    is    a    stranger. 
Last    nig-ht,     he     saw    a    p(H-ket-booi<     fall     from     your 

44 


y^^^- 


A  Godsend 

pocket,  and  picked  it  up.  If  he  returns  it  untouched, 
nothing  is  left  for  him  but  to  starve.  In  consequence, 
he  takes  the  liberty,  in  sending  it  back  to  you,  to 
retain  fifty  dollars  out  of  the  hundred  and  ten  which  it 
contains.  But,  as  he  is  not  a  thief,  and  has  just 
learned,  from  the  register  of  your  hotel,  that  you  are  a 
painter,  he  leaves  you  in  exchange  an  object  which  is 
useless  to  him  in  this  country,  but  which,  you  can 
judge  for  yourself,  is  certainly  worth  the  sum  he  has 
retained,  and  even  more.  He  came  from  Quebec  six 
weeks  ago  on  foot  ;  and  finding  himself  endowed  with 
very  little  disposition  for  that  mode  of  tiavellmg,  will 
purchase  a  railroad  ticket  for  Chicago  with  your 
money.  God  preserve  you  from  the  necessity  of  bor- 
rowing by  such  a  process. 

No  signature, 

Maurice  Flavigny,  at  once  relieved  and 
perplexed,  untied  the  parcel,  and  discovered 
the  picture  which  we  have  just  seen  him 
copying. 

He  examined  it  rather  indifferently  at 
first,  believing  it  to  be  like  so  many  other 
pretended  "masters,"  a  perfectly  worthless 
copy.  But  the  more  attention  he  gave  it, 
the  more  he  felt  his  interest  awakened.  It 
was  something  after  all.  No  mistake,  it 
was  something!      A    genuine    piece    of    old 

45 


If 


f( 


( 


t 


MHIMUaHUMi 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

art ;     a    master's    work  ;    a    masterpiece    per- 
haps. 

"  What  can  it  be  ? "  he  said  with  intense 
interest. 

He  spread  open  the  canvas,  took  it  near 
the  window,  surveyed  it  at  a  distance,  then 
again  more  closely.  Suddenly  a  flash  of 
light  passed  through  his  mind  : 

"Can  it  be  possible!"  he  cried  ...  "An 
Infant-Jesus  by  Murillo !  .  .  .  Yes!  this 
smoothness  of  tone,  those  aerial  and  waving 
shadows,  those  warm  reflections  of  light,  the 
moistness  of  the  eyes  and  lips,  the  grace  of 
the  modelling,  the  morbidezza  of  the  flesh, 
the  harmony  of  the  whole,  both  ideal  and 
realistic,    all    the    characteristics    of    the    old 

Spanish  master! Every  dash  of  the 

brush  marks  the  signature.  But  here?  By 
what  miracle?  .  .  .  And,  I  am  the  owner  of 
this  treasure.     Oh !    my  dear  mother   .   .   ." 

And  Maurice  wiped  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 
Passing  through  New  York,  he  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  wealthy  dealers  in  paint- 
ings, who   had   said  to  him  :  "  There  must  be 

some  works  of   the  old    masters   In   Canada, 

46 


',  i^r 


A  Godsend 

among  the  ancient  French  families.  If  you 
ever  come  across  some  of  them  the  owner 
be  wilh'ng  to  dispose  of,  please  think  of  us," 
"Holy  Virgin!"  cried  he,  "in  three  days 
from  now,  it  will  be  Christmas  ;  if  I  sell  this 
picture  I  vow  to  paint  a  copy  of  it  for  the 
creche  of  my  village  !  " 


IV 

To  paint  the  copy  in  two  days  was  a 
hard  task  indeed,  but  it  was  accomplished. 
The  original  was  delivered  to  the  agent  of 
Cornhill  &  Granger.  The  price  agreed  upon 
was  paid,  and  with  the  copy  he  had  made, 
neatly  framed,  Flavigny,  the  afternoon  before 
Christmas  Day,  crossed  the  river  at  Longueuil, 
and  there  hired  a  conveyance  to  drive  him 
down  to  Contrecoeur. 

In  the  evening  we  find  him  knocking  at 
the  door  of  the  presbyter}^  his  votive  offering 
in  hand.  The  Cicr^,  a  good  soul  with  some 
artistic  tastes,  delighted  with  the  godsend, 
welcomed  with  extreme  courtesy  his  parish- 
ioner,    whom     he     knew     by     name     only, 

47 


(    >,: 


i  •  \ 


^.-••^iiiiiiitm,  ei^^Jr' 


' 


II 


Chri' tuias  in  French  Canada 

as   he    hiiu    been   in    the    place   but    a    short 
time. 

He  greatly  admired  the  little  chefd\vuvre 
in  which  he  found  a  1  li  oi  familiar 
appearance,"  he  said  ;  and  an  hour  later  the 
new  painting,  adorned  with  flowers  and  ever- 
greens, and  suspended  on  the  background  of 
tlie  sacred  shrine  of  the  |  arish  church, 
.ibove  the  traditional  manger,  awaited  the 
midnight  bell  to  radiate  in  the  glow  of 
lamps   and    wax-tapers. 

Maurice  Flavigny  left  the  presbytere  of 
Contrecoeur  with  an  order  for  a  large  paint- 
ing of  the  Holy  Trinity,  the  patron  of  the 
parish.  One  can  imagine  what  a  hymn  of 
gratitude  rang  in  the  heart  of  this  youth  of 
twenty-three,  who,  on  this  Christmas  night, 
so  joyful,  so  solemn,  so  impressive  to  all,  was 
carrying  both  happiness  and  wealth  to  her 
he  loved  best  'v!  th,>  world,  his  old  mother, 
poor  and  blind,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for 
five   long   years. 

Maurice  found  her  at  the  school-house, 
attended  by  only  a  young  maid:  he  school- 
mistress,   who    was    at    th.'     same    time   the 

48 


f| 


A  God  solid 

organist  of  the  parish,  having  had  to  spend 
the  day  in  the  vicinity  of  the  church  for  the 
rehearsal  of  the  Christmas  music,  at  a  cousin's 
of  hers,  a  young  physi'ian  recently  settled  in 
the  village. 

V 

We  shall  not  describe  th  meeting  of  the 
mother  and  son.  Such  happy  scenes  of  over- 
llowing  tenderness  cannot  be  depicted.  The 
human  heart  is  so  constituted,  that  intensity 
of  joy,  like  sorrow,  naturally  resolves  itself  in 
tears.  Long  did  the  reunited  ones  weep  in 
°ach  other's  arms.  And  then — oh!  the 
mysterious  impulse  of  the  soul  which,  in 
haf.piness  as  in  distress,  leads  us  to  the  feet 
of  Him  who  is  the  source  of  all  felicity  as 
He   is  all    consolation  ! — the   poor    invalid 

took  her  son    by  the  hand  : 

"Come,  Maurice,"  said  she,  feeling  her 
way  as  best  she  could  towards  a  part  of  the 
bare  wall,  whore  her  unsec  ing  eyes  seemed 
to  contemplate  some  invisible  object,  "  come, 
kneel  down  with  me  before  the  Infant- 
Jesus  I " 

49 


.<:' 


( 


f 

I    ^    ...     .. 

i   l.i 


*  i 


Cbiistnias  in  Imi'ikIi  Canada 

"What  Iiifant-Jcsus?"  asked  the  young 
artist,  not  nolicin<j  the  significant  beckoning 
of  the  little  maid,  busy  with  the  dressing  of 
the  table. 

"The  Infant-Jesus  of  Suzanne,  there, 
on  the  wall,  the  old  painting  she  loves  so 
well." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said 
Maurice,  whose  eyes,  moving  to  and  fro 
between  the  wall  and  his  mother,  still  did 
not  catch  the  glance  of  the  little  maid. 

"  Why  !  don't  you  see  the  picture  on  the 
wall?" 

"Surely,  no,"  said  the  young  man,  looking 
at  his  mother  with  anxious  surprise. 

"The  Infant-Jesus  is  not  there?  .... 
The  Infant-Jesus  is  gone  I  .  .  .  Oh!  pity 
on  me !    I  dread  to  understand  ! " 

And  the  poor  blind  woman  sank  on  her 
chair,  sobbing. 

The  little  maid  was  questioned  by  Maurice, 
and  after  some  hesitation,  she  explained  all. 
During  the  last  illness  of  Mme.  Flavigny 
Mile.  Suzanne,  who  had  become  entirely 
destitute,  and  knew  not   where  to  find  money 

so 


.L 


A  Godsend 

for   the    medicines   ordered    by   the   doctor    of 
a      neighboring     village-for     there     was     no 
physician    at    Contrccoeur    at    that    time-had 
sold    the  old  painting  to  a  stranger,  a  passer- 
by  who    had    entered    the    house    by   chance. 
She  had  received  a  good    price  f,;r  it  though, 
said  the  maid.     Five  dollars !     Which  did  not 
prevent    her  eyes    being   red   with    tears    when 
she  parted  with  her  treasure.     She  had  warned 
the    little    maid    not    to    say   anything    about 
the     matter,    especially     to     Mme.     Flavigny, 
who,  being    blind,  imagined    all    the  time  that 
the  Infant-Jesus  was  in  its  usual  place. 

"  Now,"  entreated  the  poor  girl  in  con- 
clusion, "don't  tell  Mile.  Suzanne  I  have 
betrayed  her  secret;  she  would  not  scold 
me,  she  is  too  kind  for  that;  but  it  would 
grieve   her.     Would    it  not,    Madame?" 

Maurice's  mother  wept  silently,  while  he, 
preyed  upon  by  a  strange  preoccupation,  re- 
flected profoundly,  pacing  the  room  up  and 
down,  from  one  end  to  the  other.  After  a 
moment   he   spoke: 

"What  kind  of  a  painting  was  it?"  he 
asked. 


\  I 


H 


ii 


f, 


•  -.••f«.»l-<ta««»i# 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"Oh!    merely   old    rubbish,"   answered    his 

mother,   "but  the  child  had  a  love  for  it.      It 

was   a   treasure  to   her.      It   was   all    she   had 

inherited   from  her  family— one   of  the   oldest 

in   Quebec ;    the   last  remnant  of  their  former 

wealth,  which  she  held  from  her  grandmother, 

who  left  it  to  her,  saying  that  it   would   bring 

her  good    luck.     .    .    And    imagine,    the   dear 

little    one     sacrificed     it     for     me.     .     .     Oh! 

Maurice,    Maurice,    what    an    angel!   .   .    And 

so   beautiful,   they   say!   .    .    " 

Maurice   still    reflected  ;    at   last   he   said : 
"What   size   was   the   painting?" 
"About   three   feet   by   two,"  answered  the 
little   maid. 

"An    Infant-Jesus?" 

"Yes,    with   nice    little    golden    locks,   and 
lying   on    a   silk   pillow." 
Maurice   grew   pale. 

"  On    a    dark    ground  ?  "    asked    he    with 
quivering   voice. 

"  Yes,    sir,    very    dark  !  " 


Sa 


iiilii^is 


A  Godsend 


VI 


For  some  time  past,  the  tinkling  of  sleigh 
bells,  mingled  with  the  grinding  of  runners  on 
the  snow,  hardened  by  the  cold,  had  been 
heard  at  intervals.  It  was  the  parishioners 
hastening  to  church  to  prepare  themselves  for 
Communion,  at  the  mysterious  and  poetic 
nocturnal  mass. 
Suddenly : 

"Whoa!   .   .   Whoa!   .   .   Stop!" 
Voices    were    heard    at    the     door.       One 
sleigh,   two   sleighs   just   halted. 

"  Who   is  '  it  ?  "   asked    Mme.    Flavigny. 
"  It    is    the     Gendreau     and     the     Benoit, 
Madame." 

"  Our  old  farmers,  Maurice ;  you  knew 
them;  good  people  who  do  not  forget  me," 
she   said   with   satisfaction. 

"\^^-^lk    in,   messieurs  et  dames,   walk   in!" 

"  Good  evening  to  all  ! "  exclaimed  the 
new   comers. 

*'  Bonsoir,  la  compagnie  !  How  is  your 
health,  Madame  Flavigny  ?  " 

53 


\\ 


\\\ 


1    - 


II 


1 1  n 


\    s\ 


)  ■^  w 


I  i: 


!     ( 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

''Trcs  Men  I  It  is  you,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Gendreau?  It  is  you,  Julie?  And 
your   husband,    I    suppose?   .   .    " 

"Marcel    Benoit,  pour  votes  scrvir !" 
"  Yes,  Madame,"  intervened  Gendreau,  who 
was   somewhat    of    an    orator,    having   been   a 
candidate     for     municipal    honors,    "here    are 
Marcel    Benoit   and    Philippe    Gendreau.   your 
old    farmers,    who     never     forget    their    good 
mistress,    and    who    come    with     their    wives, 
also    present,    to    offer    you     their    Christmas 
greetings,    with   all    the    compliments    of   the 
season,   as    big   people   say." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  my  good  friends!" 
"  More  than  that,  Mame  Flavigny,  we  have 
just  heard  that  your  long  expected  son  has 
returned  home  to-day.  and  as  you  are  con- 
fined to  your  house,  if  you  will  allow  it,  we 
shall  join  here  and  have  a  good  supper 
together   after   the    midnight   mass." 

"You  are  too  kind,  indeed,"  said  Maurice, 
who,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  his  reflections,' 
had  remained  aside.  "Monsieur  and  Madame 
Gendreau,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Benoit,  I 
am  deeply  touched  with  your  thoughtfulness," 

54 


iHWs: 


A  Godsend 

he  continued.  "I  know  you  have  been  ex- 
cellent friends  to  my  poor  mother,  and  I  am 
happy  to  have  this  opportunity  of  thanking 
you  for  it.     As  to  the  supper.    .    .    " 

"This  is  no  great  place  for  feasting,"  inter- 
rupted   Mme.   Flavigny. 

"Tut!  tut!  .  .  you  have  nothing  to  say 
on  the  subject.  We  have  brought  all  that  is 
wanted.  We  know  how  it  is  when  visitors 
are   not   expected." 

"Come,  Lisette!  Come,  Julie!"  exclaimed 
Marcel  Benoit,  "show  your  stock  of  supplies. 
Here,  look  at  this  !  Two  hampers  full  :  meat 
pies,  tarts,  a  chine-piece  of  fresh  pork,  a 
turkey,  and  a-oquignolcs*  real  Christmas  cro- 
quignoles,  as  we  know  you  like  them, 
Mame  Flavigny." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!  but  we  must  not  forget 
to  mention  something  else,"  added  Philippe 
Gendreau  with  a  significant  wink  and  strum- 
ming lightly  on  the  round  fat  belly  of  a 
h-ttle  stone  jar;  "here  is  some  Jamaica  of 
the  good  old  time,  Monsieur  Maurice.  The 
X^     thing     your     father     used     to     like.      I 

*  Doughnuts. 

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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

thought  this  would  please  you,  and  I  hope 
it  will  suit  your  taste.  Poor  Monsieur  le 
notairel  it  is  the  remainder  of  a  small  keg 
he  made  me  a  present  of  on  my  wedding 
day." 

Maurice  Flavigny,  moved  to  the  heart  by 
this  simple  friendliness,  passed  around  from 
on^  group  to  the  other,  silently  pressing  the 
hands  of  each  person,  too  much  affected  to 
otherwise   express   his   gratitude. 

"  That's  all  right,  then  !  "  said  Philippe 
Gendreau    in   his    resounding   vo.ce. 

"That's  all  right!"  repeated  Marcel  Ben- 
oit,    his   faithful   echo. 

"La  Louise  will  come,"  continued  Gen- 
dreau, "to  help  the  little  creature  to  set  the 
table.  As  for  us,  let  us  go.  The  last  bell 
will  ring  soon.  To  church  first,  and  the 
rt'veillon  afterwards.  Monsieur  Maurice,  there 
is  a  place  for  you  in  my  cariole  at  the  side 
of  my  wife.  But,  be  careful,  mind  you,  for 
she   is  somewhat  ticklish." 

Maurice,  who  was  not  a  stranger  to  those 
jovial  and   familiar  manners,  heartily  accepted 

the    invitation,   and    after    having   put   on    his 

S6 


■*f  tl>'*.l,«. 


A  Godsend 

heavy   winter   wraps,    impressed    a    long    and 
warm    kiss   on    his   mother's   brow. 

"A  bientdt,  my  son!"  she  said;  "go  and 
thank  the  good  Infant-Jesus  for  all  the 
happiness  he  is  bestowing  upon  us  this 
evening.  You  will  see  Suzanne;  tell  her 
that  she  is  expected  here  without  fail  after 
mass  with  her  cousin,  the  new  doctor,  and 
his  wife,  if  she  is  not  afraid  to  venture  out 
in    the   cold." 

"Ho!   ho!  .  .  Get  in,  get  \n\     Let  us  lose 
no   time,   7ios  gens!" 

It   was   the   thundering   voice    of    Philippe 
Gendreau    giving   the   signal    for   the   start. 

"All  aboard!  all  aboard,  les  creatures!" 

It  was  Marcel  Benoit,  who,  according  to 
his  custom,  seconded  his  comrade's  motion. 

VII 

And  gling!  .  .  glang!  .  .  diriding! 

Here  are  the  '  vo  joyful  sleigh  loads  mov- 
ing off  at  full  speed  over  the  creaking  snow, 
under  the  stars  glitterini'^  on  their  blue  back- 
ground like  burning  points  of  steel. 

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Gling,  glang,  glong !  .  .  diriding,  ding! 
There   they   go,    the    fiery   little   Canadian 
horses,    snorting    in     the     mist,    tossing    their 
rimy  manes,  and  exhibiting   their  well-known 
mettle,— Maurice    Flavigny   and    the    farmers' 
wives,   warmly   wrapped    up   in   the   depths  of 
the   carioles,  while,  standing  in  the  front,  well 
belted  up  in  their  wild-cat  overcoats,  with  their 
fur  caps   pulled  down  to  their  eyes,  icicles  on 
their  moustaches,  and  the  reins  passed  around 
their  necks,    Philippe    Gendreau    and     Marcel 
Benoit   vigorously  beat  their   bodies   to   warm 
their     fingers,     for     the     cold     is     fierce    and 
bitter. 

And   gling!  .  .  gling,   diriding!  .  . 
Still    they    go,   the    brave    little   Canadian 
ponies,  excited    by    more   solemn    and   distant 
sounds   which   the    wind    brings    to    them    in 
intermittent   peals  : 
Dang  !    dong  !  .  , 

It  is  the  great  bells  this  time.  The  big 
parish  bells  which  sing  their  joyous  carillon  in 
the  night  from  the  lantern-shaped  steeple  of 
the  old  church  of  Contrecoeur,  the  tall  win- 
dows of  which   appear  in   the  distance,  their 

58 


■"^M, 


A  Godsend 

rosy    gleam   contrasting    with   the   pale   hghts 
of  the   outside. 

As    Maurice    Flavigny   entered    the   church 
and  walked  towards  Philippe  Gendreau's  pew, 
placed    in    the    front   of    the   Virgin's   Chapel! 
face   to    face  with  the  manger-shrine,  a    voice, 
sweet   but   powerful,    a   woman's  voice   full   of 
emotion,     accompanied    by    the    strains    of   a 
harmonium  artistically  played,  intoned  the  old 
carol    often   sung    by   our   ancestors,  that   old 
hymn    so    touching    in    its  ancient  form    and 
simplicity : 

f^,  herf^ersy  assemblons-nous  ! 


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Was  it  only  the  impression  which  every 
natural  and  sensitive  heart  feels  at  the  sight, 
after  long  absence,  of  the  old  village  church 
where  he  was  baptized,  where  he  received 
his  first  communion,  and  which  echoed  his 
infant  prayers,  or  was  it  the  effect  produced 
on   him    by   this   silver-toned    voice    which   he 

59 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 


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heard  for  the  first  time?  At  all  events,  the 
young  stranger  knelt,  or  rather  fell  on  his 
knees,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands,  his 
breast  shaken  by  tumultuous  sensations 
hitherto    unknown    to    him. 

When  he  raised  his  eyes,  his  copy  of 
the  Infant-Jesus  was  before  him.  From  the 
midst  of  flowers,  gold  ornaments,  and  lamps 
of  varied  colors,  the  soft  eyes  looked  upon 
him  with  an  ineffable  smile.  Then,  two  big 
tears  glided  over  his  cheeks.  He  felt  as 
though  in  a  dream  —  and,  lulled  by  the 
simple  and  impressive  chants  of  this  holy 
night  full  of  sacred  mystery,  his  thoughts 
involuntarily  gathered  in  sweet  memories  and 
indefinite  hopes  which  invaded  his  heart 
overflowing  with  emotion  and  happiness. 

By  degrees,  the  face  of  the  divine  bam- 
bino, which  he  did  not  cease  to  contemplate 
with  the  pride  and  interest  of  an  artist, 
seemed  transformed  into  the  delicate  features 
of  a  fair  young  girl  with  virginal  brow,  and 
eyes  soft  and  caressing,  in  their  supreme 
expression  of  kindness  and  sweet  melancholy. 

The  whole   scene   also  changed   gradually. 
60 


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A  Godsend 

Maurice  saw  this  young  girl,  brought  up  in 
luxury,  but  condemned  to  work  for  a  livin^r 
sharing  her  home  with  a  poor,  blind  and 
helpless  woman,  and  becoming  her  guardian 
angel,  her  daughter,  her  nurse.  More  than 
this,  he  saw  her  giving  up  for  a  trifle  a 
family  relic,  a  sacred  keepsake,  a  master- 
piece beloved  and  venerated,  to  save  the 
poor  invalid  stranger.  For  he  doubted  no 
longer,  the  Infant-Jesus  the  copy  of  which 
had  seemed  familiar  to  the  parish  priest-— 
that  painting  which  had  fallen  into  his  hands 
by  such  an  extraordinary  hazard  —  that 
Miirillo  which  had  enriched  him— could  be 
nothing  else  but  the  old  heirloom  secretly 
sold  to  save  his  mother. 

And  this  voice  which  so  profoundly 
stirred  all  the  fibres  of  his  heart,  was  it 
not  the  voice  of  this  young  girl,  of  this 
modest  benefactress — that  of  Suzanne?  .  .  . 
And  this  name,  half  uttered,  expired  on  his 
lips,  like  the  most  exquisite,  but  at  the  same 
time  the  most  bewildering  music. 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 


V!II 

The  communion  drew  near.  The  voice 
which  had  just  modulated  the  last  notes  of 
a  touching  pastoral  became  silent.  A  dyinjr 
strain  of  harmony  floated  a  moment  in  the 
sonorous  depths  of  the  arches.  Then  Maurice 
saw  passing  at  his  left  hand,  to  approach  the 
communion  table,  a  fair,  tall,  young  maiden, 
with  an  unusual  air  of  distinction,  modestly 
dressed  in  black,  the  sight  of  whuiii  deeply 
moved  hirp. 

She  ki)v,'it  down,  received  the  Sacrament, 
and  t'  ,.i;  vvcnt  and  reverently  prostrated  her- 
self bcfor'  the  Christmas  shrine.  But  when 
she  rose  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  make  the 
sign  of  the  Cross  on  her  breast,  she  uttered 
a  cry  of  surprise,  and  tottered. 

With  a  bound  Maurice  was  at  her  side, 
and   supported    her   in    his   arms. 

A    few   minutes    later,    they    were    at    the 

doctor's    house  ;     but    happily,    Suzanne  —  for 

the    reader     has,    no     doubt,    recognized     the 

identity  of  the  young   girl — Suzanne   did   not 

62 


kMWI 


A  Godsend 

require  his  aid,   the   fresh  outdoor  air  having 

completely     restored      her  from      the     shock 

she    had    experienced     at  the    sight    of    the 
painting. 

When  Maurice  and  Suzanne's   cousin    tr 
their   surprise   was   manifested   by   two   excla- 
mations : 

"  Gustavo ! " 

"  Maurice ! " 

"By  what  chance,   I   wonder?" 

"This  is  my  home;  and  yourself?  when 
did    }-ou    return?" 

"  I   arrived  this  very  night." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  and  what  brings  you 
here  ?  " 

"My  mother.  She  lives  with  .  .  .  Mile. 
D'Aubray,  if  I  am  not  mistaken?"  said 
Maurice,  bowing   to   the   }-oung   lady. 

"With  Suzanne?" 

"Yes,  cousin,"  intervened  the  school-mis- 
tress, "the  blind  lady  I  spoke  to  you  about 
is  this  gentleman's  mother,  it  appears." 

"  What  a  coincidence !  I  have  been 
requested  to  give  her  my  professional 
attendance." 

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"In   fact,  you  were  an  oculist,   at   Paris?" 
commented  Maurice. 
"  Exactly." 
"  Ah !    my   dear   friend,  if  you   could   ever 


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"  I    understand ;     you    may    depend    upon 
me.       I    will    do   my    best." 

"Thanks,  but   how   is  it  .   .  .?" 

"That  an  oculist  .should  be  at  Contre- 
coeur  instead  of  Montreal?  Family  interests, 
dear  friend.  The  health  of  my  wife  demands 
country  air — for  I  am  married,  my  jrood 
fellow,  married  for  the  last  six  months.  But 
I  shall  tell  you  all  this  on  our  way;  I 
have  just  ordered  my  horse  for  the  purpose 
of  driving  Suzanne  home,  and  there  is  a 
j)lace  for  you  in  the  sleigh — with  your  per- 
mission,  cousin  ?  " 

"Good!  let  us  drive  on,  then!"  inter- 
rupted Philippe  Gendreau,  who  had  just 
appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  whip 
in  hand,  his  faithful  Achates  at  his  heels. 

"  Let  us  drive  on  ! "  repeated  Marcel 
Benoit,    "  the    women    are   ready." 

"You  know  we  take  the  n^veillon  together, 
64 


A  Godsend 

doctor,"     added      Philippe     Gendreau ;      "it's 
understood." 

"  It's  understood,  doctor,"  re-echoed  Marcel 
Benoit. 

"Ah!  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "there  is 
a  irvcillon,  eh?  That's  another  thin-  Vou 
must  wait  a  second,  then.  I  shall  have  to 
do  my  share  in  it." 

A  moment  later,  the  wh.^le  ,,arty  drove 
away  at  full  speed. 


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IX 

On  entering  the  school-house,  the  voun- 
mistress  hastened  to  ki.ss  Maurice's  mother 
It  was  a  daily  habit ;  but  whether  from  the 
effect  of  one  day's  absence,  or  something  else 
the  blind  woman  could  not  help  noticing 
that  "her  little  Suzanne"  kissed  her  with 
unusual  fondness  that  evening. 

"Oh!    such   a  beautiful  midnight,  mass   as 
u-e    have    had,    Mame   Flavigny ! "    exclaimed 
the     farmers      and      their      wives.       Philippe 
Gendreau,    Marcel    Benoit,   Lisette  and    Julie 
surrounding    the   table   burdened    by  a  weight 

63 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

of  substantial  and  succulent  country  dishes, 
interspersed  with  lofty  pyramids  of  croquig- 
noles  in  their  dress  of  powdered  sugar — the 
traditional  Christmas  cake  of  French  Canada. 

And  after  a  grace  reverently  pronounced 
by  the  blind  lady  for  the  blessing  of  that 
table  around  which  sat  all  that  were  dear 
to  her  in  this  world,  the  feast  began  amidst 
laughter  and  joyful  exclamations. 

"  Yes,  a  splendid  midnight  mass  ! "  said 
the  doctor.  "  Did  you  notice  in  what  par- 
ticularij'  good  spirits  the  Cure  seemed  to 
be?" 

"  And  what  perfect  singing  I "  timidly 
added  Maurice. 

Suzanne  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  The 
painter  was    seated    by   hi;  ther ;    and    the 

young  girl  had  modestl>  ..^en  a  place  at 
the  side  of  her  cousin  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table. 

"Yes,     yes,     yes,    that's     all     very    well!" 

cried    out    Philippe    Gendreau,     "but    in    the 

meanwhile     it's     long    time     between     drinks. 

Ladies      and      gentlemen,     sauf    vof     respect, 

Mame   Flavigny,   don't  you    think    we    ought 

66 


A  Godsend 

to  drink  a  little  toast  between  ourselves 
were  it  only  to  have  a  short  speech  from 
Monsieur   Maurice?" 

"A  capital  idea!"  emphasized  Marcel 
Benoit,  never  too  late  when  called  upon 
to  favor  the  views  of  his  friend  and  can- 
didate. 

"Well,  then,"  interposed  the  doctor,  has- 
tenmg  to  open  a  parcel  he  had  left  behind 
on  entering  the  house,  "if  that  be  so,  here 
IS  the  moment  for  my  surprise." 

And  he  exhibited  two  sealed  bottles 
which-no  matter  what  may  be  the  opinion 
of  the  reader-did  not  seem  too  much  out 
of  place  on  the  table  of  the  humble  school- 
house  of  Contrecoeur. 

"Champagne,  upon  my  word!"   exclaimed 
Maurice. 

"Yes,  champagne,  and  not  bad  champagne 
either,"  cried  the  doctor,  with  the  nod  of  a 
connoisseur. 

"A  real  banquet,  then." 
"Yes,   the   remainder   of  one    tendered   to 
me   on    the   eve  of  my  marriage,  by  my  col- 
leagues   of  the   Faculty,   my   good    fellow.      It 

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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

IS     a    jo3T)us     circumstance     added     to     your 
happy   home   cominfr." 

And  the  Doctor,  after  having  popped  the 
corks,  filled  the  glasses  and  raised  his  own, 
saying  : 

"My  friends,  to  the  health  of  Madame 
Flavigny  first,  and  then  to  that  of  my  brave 
comrade,  Maurice,  who,  by  a  happy  coinci- 
dence, joins  us  on  this  Christmas  night." 

"Merry  Christmas!"  cried  out  all  the 
guests,  rising  and  touching  their  glasses 
across   the   table. 

Meanwhile.  Suzanne  had  disappeared. 
The  recipient  of  this  cordial  toast  rose  to 
his  feet  while  the  other  guests  resumed  their 
seats.  After  having  emptied  his  glass, 
Maurice  opened  his  lips  to  utter  a  few 
words    of    thanks; 

"  My  friends,"  he  began— 
But  he  stopped.  A  melodious  voice,  the 
same  which  had  so  much  impressed  the 
young  artist  on  his  entrance  into  the 
church,  one  of  those  voices  which  come 
from  and  go  to  thr  heart,  a  voice  which 
conveyed  by  its   freshness  a  peculiar  serenity 

68 


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A  Godsend 

of   expression,    sounded     from    the    adjoining 
room,   accompanied    by   the    sweet   and    trem- 
bhng   notes  of  a   mclodeon. 
The   voice   sang  : 

Ncuvelle  afcrdable  ! 


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salvo  of  applause. 

"Merry    Christmas!"     cried     the  in 

company    again    and    again  ^°"' 

Maurice      kissed      his     weeping  mother. 

Suzanne  had  resumed  her  seat  at  the  table, 
and  bowed  blushingly  under  the  ga^e  full  of 
caressmg  emotion  with  which  the  son  of 
Mme.  Flavigny  enveloped  her.  A  current  of 
^Tiysterious    affinities    floated   in    the  air      In  . 

s.ngle     moment    two    hearts    held    entrancing. 

communion  :    most   sacred  compact  which    the 

Angel   of    Love    signs   In   the    face  of    God 

with  a  smile  on  his  lips. 


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Christmas  in  French  CanacUi 


Maurice   tried    to   resume   his   speech  : 
"My   friends,"   said    he,    "you    have    been 
drinkin^r  t'le  healths  of  my  mother  and  my- 
self .  .  " 

He  was   interrupted   once   more: 

"Wait  a  minute,  here  am  I!"  cried  the 
joyous   voice   of  a   new   comer. 

A   general    outburst   of  surprise  followed  : 

^'Monsieur  le  curt'!" 

And  every  one  rose  with  respect  to  greet 
the  beloved  and  venerated  pastor  of  the 
parish. 

"Yes,"  said  the  priest,  who  held  under 
his  arm  a  somewhat  voluminous  object ;  "yes, 
Madame  Flavigny;  yes,  Mademoiselle'  Suz- 
anne, it  is  I,  who  asks  your  leave  to  share 
in   your  joy." 

"Bravo!  bravo.  Monsieur  le  curd!  Come 
and   have  a  seat  with   us  at   the    table." 

"Certainly,  my  children;  but  first  allow 
me  to  furnish  my  own  share  towards  the 
general    rejoicing." 

70 


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A  Godsend 

Whereupon  the  good  priest  exhibited,  to 
the  admiration  of  all,  the  object  he  had 
under  his  arm,  and  which  was  nothing  else 
but  the  copy  of  the  Murillo  so  fondly 
painted    by   Maurice. 

"My  Infant-Jesus!"  exclaimed  Suzanne, 
bewildered.  "My  Infant-Jesus!  .  .  Yes,  it  is 
He  ;  it  was  not  a  dream.  .  .  And  quite 
new.  .  .  Revived,  radiant.  .  .  How  can  it 
be?" 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  good  priest,  "  I 
have  just  heard  that  there  were  for  you  some 
dear  family  remembrances  and  a  touching 
tale  of  devotion  attached  to  the  original  of 
this  picture.  You  deserve  that  at  least  the 
copy  should  be  yours,  and  I  made  it  a  duty 
to  present  it  myself  this  Christmas  night. 
The  parish  owes  you  more  than  th.'s  for  all 
the  services  you  render  to  our  chu..T.  from 
one  year's  end  to  the  other." 

"Merry  Christmas!"  cried  again  all  the 
voices,  while  Suzanne,  with  folded  hands, 
and    still    overcome   with    her    surprise,   said  : 

"Monsieur  k  curd,  explain.  It  is  not  a 
dream.  .  .   It   is  a    miracle,    is   it   not.?" 

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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"Yes,  my  child,"  answered  the  curd,  "a 
miracle  of  artistic  skill.  Ask  my  new 
parishioner,  Monsieur  Maurice,  who  now 
must  do  his  part  towards  concealing  the 
theft  I  have  committed  to  the  prejudice  of 
my  cloth,  and  without  the  knowledge  of  my 
more  virtuous   church-wardens." 

The  young  lady  slowly  turned  towards 
Maurice  and  repaid  to  the  young  man  the 
gaze  with  which  he  had  caressed  her  a 
moment  ago.  After  having  divined,  they 
understood  each  other.  The  sweetest  emotion 
filled    their  two   souls. 

"Well,     now,    a    tabic  I    d     tabled     cried 
Philippe  Gendreau;    "we  are  only  beginning." 
Another  voice  echoed  : 
"^  tabic!" 

Needless  to  ask    if  it  was   that    of  Marcel 
Benoit. 


-\ 


'\A 


XI 


"  Monsieur  Maurice,  I  congratulate  you 
on  your  happy  return,"  said  the  good  priest, 
emptying   the   glass   tendered   to   him    by   the' 

72 


/If 


-*%1  ^"^'t 


mmw 


A  Godsend 

doctor;  "God  bless  you  in  your  wa>s,  and 
keep  you  ever  worthy  of  the  pious  mother 
he  has  favored  you  with." 

"Thank-  you,  Monsieur  le  am\  for  your 
good  wishes,"  said  Maurice,  speaking  in  a 
particuk-irly  serious  tone;  "I  shall  try  to 
prove  to  you,  this  very  moment,  that  I 
deserve   them." 

And  leaving  his  seat,  he  passed  around 
the  table,  and  laid  a  large  white  envelope 
before   the   younjj   school-mistress,  saying: 

"  Mademoiselle,  this    envelope    contains    a 
bank    draft    for    ten    thousand   dollars;    it    is 
a   sum    which    I   restore   to   its   owner." 
"  Eh  ?  " 
"What?" 
"  How  is  that  ? " 
"  Ten  thousand  dollars  !  " 
"What  does  this  mean?" 
"  It  mr-ns,  my  friends,"  answered   Maurice, 
"that   th^    original   of  the   painting  you   have' 
just     admired,     belonged      to     Mademoiselle; 
that  it  was  the  work  of  a  great  master;    that 
it  fell  into  my  hands  by  chance,  or  rather  by 
an  interposition  of  Providence;   that  I   sold   it 

73 


/?! 


f } 


ni 


% 


,  \ 


h' 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

for  ten  thousand  dollars;    and   that    I    simply 
renr.it  the  price  to  whom  it  is  due." 

"  Hut,  sir,"  said  Suzanne,  whom  so  many 
emotions  had  rendered  pale  and  trembling, 
"you  do  not  owe  me  an)'thing.  The  picture 
no  longer   belonged  to  me ;    I  had  sold  it." 

"Oh!  no.  Mademoiselle,  you  had  not  sold 
it.  Like  the  good  angel  that  >ou  arc,  you 
had  sacrificed  that  family  relic  which  was 
so  dear  to  you,  in  order  to  help  my  poor, 
sick  and  forsaken  mother." 

"No    matter.    Monsieur.      Even    supposing 
such  a  charitable  action  on  my  part,  I  cannot 
be    considered    as    the   owner  of  an  object  to 
which  I  have  no  claim  whatever.'' 
"  Mademoiselle  .  .  ." 

'' Non,  Monsieur,  I  cannot  take  the 
money,"  said  Suzanne,  returning  the  envel- 
ope to  the  young  man  ;    "  it  is  not  mine." 

"  Then  here,  mother,"  said  Maurice,  placing 
the  paper  in  the  hands  of  the  invalid;  "give 
it  to  her  yourself,  since  she  will  not  accept 
anything  from  me?"' 

"  Maurice,  you  are  worthy  of  your  father," 
said  the  good  old  woman. 

74 


>*a 


A  Godsend 

And  adflressin^r  Suzanne  : 

"My  child,"    said   she,    "  take  this    money, 
't  is  yours;    it  comes   as  the  accomph-shmcnt 
of     >our      frrandmother's       prediction;      you 
remember,    she    said    the  old   painting   would 
brin^r  you    good   luck.      You  have  taken   care 
of  me,  you   have    rescued   me   in   my  distress, 
you  sat   at  my    bed-side,  you  have  saved    my 
life;    God  rewards  you   for  it  by  the  hand  of 
my  son,  and   through   the   unconscious   object 
which    was    the    instrument    of   your    charity. 
Take  this  money." 

"No,  Madame,  it  is  useless  to  insist,"  said 
Suzanne,  resolutely.  "The  money  is  not 
mine." 

"  But  it  is  dae  to  you." 
"  Madame  Flavigny,"  said  tho  girl,  proudly, 
"even  though  I  had  some  title  to  your  grati- 
tude it  would   be  no  reason    for  me  to  accept 
the  price  of  a  service  rendered,  would  it  ?  " 

"  And  as  for  me,  Mademoiselle,"  inter- 
vened Maurice,  "I  cannot  keep  the  money 
which  belongs  to  you.  To  enrich  myself 
through  your  .sacrifice  when  I  am  already  so 
greatly     indebted     to    your    kindness     would 

75 


t 


! 


i 
M 


ii 


i    ■«-:<;  *v#&*«.»^k 


;j  'f 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

be  an  act  of  meanness  which  ivould  make 
me  despicable  in  my  own  eyes.  Do  accept, 
I  beseech  you   .   .   .   Suzanne!" 

He  stopped,  extremely  confused  at  having 
dared  to  utter  those  two  syllables  which  had 
so  far  ascended  his  heart  only  to  expire  on 
his  lips.  "Do  accept,"  he  insisted,  "for  your 
happiness  and  ours  !  " 

"  Impossible,  Monsieur  Maurice,"  answered 
the  young  lady  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"^  The  money  is  yours ;  I  shall  never  accept 
it   .   .   .    never !   .    .    ." 

Maurice  let  his  arms  fall  helplessly 
by  his  side,  and  threw  a  glance  around, 
as  if  to  seek  for  advice.  What  was  to  be' 
done? 

"Monsieur  le  cure,  speak!"  besought  the 
poor  blind   mother. 

The  two  young  people  were  standing 
facing  each  other,  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
in  painful  embarrassment,  both  perplexed  and 
grieved  in  the  contemplation  of  the  unex- 
pected wealth,  fallen  from  heaven,  but  which 
neither  of  them  could  touch  without  a 
capitulation  both  of  pride  and  conscience 

76 


d  I 


.  ? "    said    one 


A  Godsend 

"Well,   mo7isieur  le  awe   . 
of  the  by-standers. 

"My  good  friends,"  said  the  priest,  "the 
case  is  really  a  difficult  one  .  .  .  Neverthe- 
less, since  God  has  sent  this  treasure,  there 
ought  to  be  some  means  of  .  .  .  The  fact 
is  that  there  is  one  means  ...  but  .  .  ." 

''Monsieur  cun<,  I  understand  you," 
interrupted  the  doctor,  joyously.  "You 
have  discovered  the  true  and  only  means 
of  making  matters  right.  There  is  no  other 
.  .  .  And  if,  by  chance,  Mme  Flavigny  had 
the  least  thought  of  asking  from  me  the 
hand  of  my  cousin  for  her  son,  after  what 
I  have  seen  at  my  house,  on  the  road  and 
here,  I  give  her  my  word  of  honor  that  I 
would  order  the  publication  cf  the  banns  in 
less  than  two  weeks." 

"And  it  would  not  cost  you  much,"  cried 
the  Cur^,  laughing. 

"I'll  take  your  word  for  it,  Monsieur 
/'  abb^;  as  for  me,  I  have  only  one 
condition  to  insist  upon :  it  is,  that,  in 
order  to  avoid  all  new  conflict  of  interest, 
the    future    wife    and    husband    be    married 

77 


( 


l.'^ 


r 


I 


(i; 


\\ 


% 


Christmas  in  French  Ccanada 

under   the   old    regime:     community    of   pro- 
perty." 

"  Bravo !  Merry  Christmas  !  merry  Christ- 
mas!" ejaculated  the  delighted  company. 

Maurice  and  Suzanne  were  so  confused 
that  they  did  not  dare  to  raise  their  eyes 
on    each   other. 

The  blind  woman  stretched  her  trembling 
arms  towards  Suzanne,  who  threw  herself 
into  them  with  a  sob. 

Lisette,    Julie,    /a    Louise    and    the    little 
maid    wiped    their    eyes    with    their    aprons 
Maunce   bent   one    knee    on    the    floor,  took 
Suzanne's  hand   in    his    and    impressed   upon 
It  a  long  and  fervid  kiss. 

"Bless  them.  Monsieur  le  cur/!"  prayed 
the  good  old  mother,  also  wiping  her  poor 
blind  eyes.  '<  Bless  them,  you.  who  can  see 
them." 

And  while  the  old  priest  extended  his 
long  white  hands  over  the  two  reclining 
brows,  the  doctor,  who  had  stealthily  and 
more  than  once  observed  the  eyes  of  the 
invalid,  drew  near  her,  and  whispered  in  her 
ear: 

78 


A 


A  Godsend 

"You  shall  also  see  them  in  a  few  weeks 
Madame   Flavigny.   take   my   word    for   it."     ' 
The     little    picture    was    bound    to    bring 
luck    to   everybody. 

And  if  any  one,  at  that  moment,  had 
passed  along  the  road  in  front  of  the  old 
school-house  at  Contrecoeur,  he  would  no 
doubt  have  heard,  mixed  up  with  joyous 
laughter,  voices  young  and  old,  clear  and 
ringing,   crying: 

''Noel!    nocl!  .  .  Merry   Christmas'" 
"We   shall    elect   him    a    member   of   the 
council,"   cried   out   Philippe   Gendreau. 

"We'll  elect  him  mayor!"  exclaimed  Mar- 
cel Benoit,  who.  for  the  first  time,  took  upon 
himself  to  differ  with  his  friend. 


.m 


!' 


79 


m 


h\ 


Eaa§8tassR«a«asMaBfaM«a 


i\V. 


i, 
I 


^'■,i 


t; 

i!   M 


f  '1 


In  a  Snowstorm: 

HE  first  time  I  stood 
godfather  was 
under  very  extra- 
ordinary circum- 
stances indeed, 
said  the  Judge. 
It   was   well    in   the    month   of    December, 

fully   forty   years  ago,  when   for  some  reason 

80 


1   i 


1  \ 


t: 

stood 
was 
ixtra- 
:um- 
leed, 

ge- 
mber, 

sason 


In  a  Snow  Storm 

or  other,  an  election  for  the  legislature  was 
to  tal:e  place  in  the  county  of  Charlevoix, 
in   January   following. 

Things  happened  in  those  days  pretty 
much  as  they  do  now:  all  the  young 
lawyers  and  other  members  of  the  profes- 
sions who  had  aspirations  for  public  life, 
were  enlisted  to  assist,  with  their  oratory, 
one   or   other   of  the   candidates. 

Living  in  Quebec  at  this  time,  and  being 
one  of  the  phalanx  on  our  side,  I  was  among 
the  first  called  to  the  front.  You  all  know 
what  a  task  it  is  to  carry  on  an  election 
campaign  in  rural  districts  during  the  winter 
time  ;  but,  as  you  know,  youth  recoils  from 
nothing  when  called  upon  to  rally  under  the 
flag. 

I  had  never  visited  that  part  of  the 
country,  which  was  said  to  be  very  pictur- 
esque ;  and,  although  the  season  was  anything 
but  favorable  for  a  tourist,  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  undertake  the  journey,  consoling 
myself  with  the  thought  that  whatever  the 
landscape  might  lose  in  peaceful  beauty  at 
this    season     of    the    year,    would     be     more 

8i 


i: 


i 


s 


1  !  ("l 


u 


ij 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

than      compensated      for      by     its     uild     and 
impressive     character. 

My  traveUing  companion  was  to  be  one 
of  my  class-mates  of  the  Seminary,  a  prom- 
ising young  doctor,  who,  alas!  was  lost  to 
science  before  he  could  give  the  world  the 
full    measure   of  his  talents. 

We  both  remembered  that  another  class- 
mate of  ours  had  just  been  nominated  cur^ 
of  St.  Tite  des  Capes,  and  we  got  it  into 
our  heads  that  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing 
to  surprise  him  by  our  presence  at  midnight 
mass  in  his  nev/  parish,  where  opportunities 
for  worldly  recreation  were  not  frequent 
enough  to  afford  him  many  occasions  br 
indulgence. 

A  joyful  evening  en  f<wiille,  between 
pipe  and  cork  screw,  and  then  an  interest- 
ing midnight  ceremony  in  some  rustic 
chapel,  after  which  a  cheerful  rc<vemon 
with  wholesome  tourticres  and  the  tradi- 
tional croquignolcs,  together  with  a  {qw 
glasses  of  cordial  to  toast  the  health  of 
our  candidate,  this  constituted,  you  must 
admit,  a  simple   but  rather  alluring  prospect. 

82 


/      i\ 


[f^«       i-y— •■•■••  • 


and 


or 


In  a  Snow  Storm 

Our  plans  were  quickly  arranged;  and 
we  started  on  our  journey  with  a  trust- 
worthy carter  by  the  naa.e  of  Pierre 
Vadeboncoeur,  who  knew  the  road  well 
and  a  lively  prancing  tandem  shaking  their 
Jingl.ng   collars   in   superb   style   and    gait 

The  sky  was  grey,  but  there  was  no 
particular  indication  of  bad  weather,  and 
apparently  nothing  to  prevent  us  from 
reachmg  our  destination  before  ^ix  o'clock 
in    the    evening 

o 

The   box  of  our  sleigh  had  been  divided 
'nto   two   compartments ;   in   the   one  we   had 
placed   our  ammunition    for   the  election,   that 
•s  to  say,  the  campaign   literature  to  reinforce 
our  oratorical  flights  ;  in  the  other  all  that  we 
considered   necessary  to  supplement   the  cellar 
and  larder  of  our  friend,  who  lived,  of  course 
the  simple  abstemious  life  usual  to  our  country 
rurcs,    especially   in    those    out-of-the-way   re- 
gions. 

I    shall    not    give    a     description     of    the 
country   through   which    we   were    obliged    to 
pass;  Beauport,  Ange-Gardien,  Chdteau-Richer 
Ste.   Anne   de  Beaupr^   and   St.  Joachim   are 

83 


'  iy 


,  I 


I 


m 


( '  ; 


I. 


': 


^fKH>''"i*i 


I    I 


'it    t 


S  I 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

all  beautiful  parishes;  but  from  there  to  St. 
Tite,  it  is  an  interminable  ascent  across  the 
most  broken  and  desolate  country  one  can 
possibly  imagine;  a  dreadful  road,  plunging 
at  times  into  dense  forest,  then  winding  up 
to  bare  summits,  reached  by  rugged  roadways 
creeping  through  fantastic  gorges  or  sidling 
along  dizzy  precipices. 

Such  are  the  Capes.  This  infernal  tract 
is  known  as  the  road  of  La  Miche.  And 
the  road  of  La  Miche,  that  is  the  place 
above  all  the  others  where  "  the  north  wind 
doth  blow,"  and  where  the  storms  of  winter 
find    full   scope   to    unbridle   their   fury. 

Now  the  weather,  which  had  been  reason- 
ably fine  during  the  early  afternoon,  had 
begun  to  change  for  the  worse  after  our 
passage  through  the  village  of  Ste.  Anne. 
The  snow— thick  and  dry—drifted  from  time 
to  time  by  sudden  gusts  of  wind,  began  to 
fill  up  the  road,  sadly  impeding  our  pro- 
gress. Consequently  wc  were  somewhat 
late  in  arriving  at  St.  Joachim,  where  we 
halted  at  the  house  of  an  old  fellow  by 
the   name  of    Filion,    the    keeper    of   a    neat 

84 


/■  -fVW  '  ^^" 


fk.. 


I 


!i 


( 


'•  [IV    Mvvv    stuiH'ifhiit   hife    ill    iirriiimi    at    St. 

■  llHU'h'uil 


'■■l 
1 

i 

\ 

^ 

r  '1 


rl, 


ILMnJiMjin*' 


vs  the 


; 'n  as. 
..e   CSpe...       1  iii:. 
thr    rr,:,t)    ,ir    T    .     • 


w  (Jul'   tj 

'  -  ;..  rth  vvind 
duth  biovv."  anrJ  where  the  storms  of  u:.)f,.r 
^'"^  unbridle   their    fu. 

N-      the  we:,:  ;     li  had    been  re i son- 

^'^  earlv    aft  ^ 

be 

pa 

The  s. 

to   time 
fill     up    !' 
gre 

latt  .:, 

hah         n     •] 
the 


'iiewhat 
.111,     .vhcre    ut 
old    fellow   b> 


«k^     .\\V\  *ivuVvs^n\>  > 


luV'jviov. 


"i^a^sas^aife 


laiiliiF' 


Vy>««v 


II  j) 


11 


<l 


j 

1 

)} 

7                                         ' 

j 

'> 

'' 

jii 

j 

i              i| 

1 

'!H 


II : 


ll 


umi 


In  a  Snow  Storm 

country  inn,  to  light  our  pipes  and   shake  off 
the  chill. 

''Messicursr   said    the    innkeeper,   "perhaps 
you    will    think    it    is    none    of    my    business 
but  if   I    were   in    your   place    I    would   go  no 
further   to-night." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 
"I  mean  that  Cape  Tourmente  does  not 
bear  his  name  for  nothing;  see  if  he  has 
not  the  appearance  of  hiding  himself  for 
some  mischief  Take  my  word,  in  half  an 
hour  from  this,  it  will  take  no  ordinary 
horses   to  cross   the    Cftpes." 

"Mine  are  not  St.  Joachim  horses,  you 
know,"  said  the  driver,  somewhat  piqued. 
"I  have  seen  your  CApes  before;  I  know 
what   they   are." 

"Not  so  well  as  I  do,"  returned  the  inn- 
keeper; "and  I  wager  you  my  house  with 
all  that's  in  it,  that  you  won't  go  throu-h 
the  capes  this  evening." 

"Well,  well,  we  shall  see,"  replied  Pierre, 
lighting  his  pipe  and  tipping  us  a  kind  of 
malicious  wink  which  we  understood  full 
well. 


i.«?=r 


^j- 1  >--ir>wi-«J«T^if 


^'^^PI'SWWWfflBfi^ft?^] 


!     :     I 


R'l, 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Filion-evidently  an  honest  man-under- 
stood it  also,  for  turning  towards  us  he 
remarked  : 

"  If  these  gentlemen  suspect  me  of  giving 
interested  advice,  I  have  nothing  left  but  to 
wish   them    good    luck;    my  duty  is  done." 

We  felt  he  was  si-  :cre ;  but  to  miss  our 
Christmas  Eve,  our  surprise  for  our  friend 
the  cure,  was  too  much  of  a  disappointment. 
And  then  Pierre  Vadeboncoeur  seemed  so  sure 
of  his  venture.   .    . 

In  short,  we  re-entered  the  cariole,  and 
while  we  warmly  wrapped  ourselves  in  the 
robes,  the  driver  vigorously  lashed  his  horses, 
who  sprang  forward,  snorting,  through  the' 
drifts. 

The   innkeeper   had    spoken    truly;   in  less 
than    an  hour,  we  were  travelling  blindly  over     . 
impracticable     roads,     in     complete     darkness, 
enveloped   in    a   torrent  of  snow  and   sleet,  of 
'vhich    no   one.    who   has    not   seen    the   same, 
can     form     an     idea.      After   having   mounted 
perpendicular   escarpments,   at   the   summit  of 
which   our   horses   could  hardly  stand   against 
the    wind,   wc   had    to   descend    into   yawning 

86 


¥ 


\\  r;!i«f ,»!)!■«, 


Ill  a  Snow  Storm 

gulfs,  bordered  by  giant  firs,  where  the  poor 
animals  almost  disappeared  in  the  whirling 
snow. 

Of  course,  we  could  not  advance  at  more 
than  a  walk  ;  and  with  nothing  but  instinct 
to  guide  them,  our  beasts,  exhausted  and 
blinded  by  clinging  rime,  trudged  painfully 
along  with  hanging  heads  and  heaving  flanks. 

"Suppose  we  turn  back,"  said  I  to  the 
driver.  "  It  is  evident  we  cannot  go  much 
further." 

"  Turn  back ! "  e.xclaimed  the  poor  man, 
who  seemed  bitterly  to  regret  his  recent 
boasting;  "it  is  too  late,  monsieur;  I  am 
as  blind  as  my  horses;  in  turning  back,  we 
would  risk  missing  the  track,  and  with  the 
track  missed,  I  would  not  give  five  cents  for 
our   three  skins." 

The   doctor   said    nothing. 

Our  situation  was  becoming  hopeless  ; 
since  wc  could  not  retrace  our  steps,  it  was 
just  as  impossible  to  remain  where  we  were, 
for  the  cold  was  increasing  in  a  terrible 
manner,  and  in  .'-pite  of  our  thick  furs,  we 
were   chilled    through    and    through.     We  had 

8? 


!| 


1  ] 


f  I 


I 


11 


}• 


I      vH.lM  Pi  hi. 


lil:       t'     t 


I]    .: 


I,  J 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

no  alternative  but  to  advance-to  advance  at 
all  hazards. 

I    was   once   in    my  life   in    distress  at  sea 
with     but    little    hopes    of    escape;     but     no' 
agony  of  shipwreck  can  be  compared    to  that 
which     my     companion      and      myself      went 
through     that     evening,     lost     in     the     dark 
solitude   and  tempest,  half  paralyzed  with  the 
wolfish    cold,  and   depending  on  two  wretched 
horses,  which    threatened    at  every  moment  to 
drop    uncfer   the   suffocating   whirlwind. 

This  last  calamity  was  at  hand.  Suddenly 
our  shaft  horse  snorted  wildly,  and  stopped 
dead,  shivering  with  terror;  the  other  one 
had  missed  his  footing  on  the  edge  of  a 
declivity,  rolling  on  his  flank,  and  struggling 
in  h.s  agony,  half  swallowed  up  in  a  flurry 
of   moving  snow. 

That  cursed  Filion  has  bewitched  us ! " 
cried  our  unhappy  driver,  throwing  himself 
at  the  head  of  the  second  horse  to  prevent 
him  from  being  dragged  down  by  the  frantic 
efforts  of  his  companion;  "if  we  have  lost 
the  road,  there  is  nothing  left  for  us  to  do, 
messieurs,   but   say   our   prayers." 

88 


'  r) 


"''^r*}m 


\ 


In  ca  Snow  Storm 

While    uttering    these    desponding    words, 

the   poor   devil    had   nevertheless  succeeded  in 

unharnessing    the     fallen    horse.       But     what 

next?     Leave   the   poor   animal    to    perish    in 

the   snow?     It  was    first   to    be    seen    if    the 

other   was   able   to   continue    the    journey   by 

himself       We    got    out    of    the    sleigh,     and 

rather   plunged    than    walked    to   give    help  to 

the    unfortunate   driver,   who,   in   spite    of   all, 

retained     sufficient    courage     to     endeavor    to' 

save  his  horses. 

What  a  night,  ;;/^«  n/a^ /  I  would  not 
wish  my  mortal  enemy  to  experience  the 
shadow  of  the  same. 

Suddenly  our  coachman  uttered  a  loud 
cry    of  joy  : 

"A   gate!      We   are   .saved." 

And  so  it  was  ;  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road  opposite  to  the  slope  on  which  the 
horse  had  sunk,  our  man  had  come  upon  a 
fence  ;  and  groping  for  a  pole  to  help  him 
in  his  work,  he  had  put  his  hand  upon  a 
gate.  A  gate  meant  a  house,  and  a  house 
meant  safety. 

"Wait   a    bit!"    cried    the     brave     Pierre: 

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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"in    ten    minutes   there    will    be   some   one   to 
help  us." 

And,  in  fact,  to  our  great  relief,  he 
appeared  a  few  inoinents  afterwards  with  a 
man  bearing  a  lantern  and  a  rope.  And, 
hurrah  I  There  was  our  poor  horse  on  his 
feet   again. 

"Good-bye    now!"    said    the     new    comer 
with    an   extraordinary    business-like    air;    "if 
the   good    God    does    not    take    care    of   you 
people  this   night,  I  pity  you  from  my  heart." 
"  What  do  you  mean  ? "   cried  I  ;   "do  you 
think    we   are   going  further  on   such  a  road? 
Your  house  is  near  by;   you  would   not  leave 
travellers  outside  a  night  like   this?" 

"Mes  bons  messieurs;'  said  the  man  with 
the  lantern,  "you  are  going  to  say  it  is  not 
very  Christian-like,  but  on  my  conscience 
and  honor,  there  is  no  possibility  of  sleeping 
at   my  house  this  night." 

"No  possibility?  15ut  we  are  not  exact- 
ing, iiion  drai'c ;  a  little  corner  under  your 
roof,  two  chairs,  a  bench,  the  bare  floor— any- 
thing at  all  ;  but  in  the  name  of  heaven, 
don't    leave    us    lost    in     the    snow,     freezing 

90 


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In  a  Snow  Storm 

alive    in    the   depths   of  night,  on    this    miser- 
able  road  ! " 

"  Alas !  wes  chcrs  messieurs,  it  sounds  hard 
indeed,  but  believe  me,  it  is  not  my  fault; 
it  is  impossible  !  " 

For  a  moment  he  took  our  driver  aside, 
but  suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry  : 

"A    doctor!     There   is   a   doctor  here!" 
And  rushing  back  to  us  he  exclaimed: 
"The  doctor!     Where  is  the  doctor?" 
"  Here  !  "  answered  my  friend. 
"Ah!    sir,"    said     the     poor     man,   almost 
throwing     himself    upon     the     neck     of     my 
companion:    "you    are   a    doctor?       It   is    the 
good     God    who   has     sent    you.      This     way 
this   way,   quick  !  "  * 

By   the    light   of  the  lantern   Pierre   and  I 
followed  with  the  horses. 

"The  stable  is  at  the  right,"  called  out 
the  man  to  us,  dragging  the  doctor  after 
him  towards  the  house,  the  door  of  which 
he   shut   in   our  faces. 

"I've  an  idea  that  there  Is  no  business 
for  us  inside  there  for  the  moment,"  said 
I'lerre  Vadeboncoeur,  somewhat  mysteriously  ■ 
"but    as    my   fin.,ers    are    badly   frozen,   satif 

91 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

vof   respect,    I    think   you    had    better    let    the 

others   manage   their  own    business    and    help 

me  to  unharness  the  horses." 

"Ma   for:    reph-cd     I,     "one    must    adapt 

himself  to   the  times  ;   to  help  one  another  is 

a   law   of  nature.     Come  on  ! " 

And  while  the  poor  fellow,  chilled  through, 

and     moaning    with   pain,     busily    chafed    his 

fingers  with  snow,  I  drew  our  cariole  under 
an  open  shed,  and  drove  our  exhausted 
horses  into  the  stable.  Then,  after  putting 
a  bundle  of  hay  in  each  of  the  mangers,  I 
turned  my  steps  towards  the  house,  accom- 
panied by  Pierre,  who  was  still  suffering  from 
the  numbness  of  his  fingers.  He  pushed 
open  the  door,  and  I  entered,  shaking  the 
snow  and  frost  which  covered  me  from  head 
to  foot,  and  removing  the  icicles  which  hung 
on    my  hair  and    moustache. 

Hardly  had  I  entered,  and  in  my  haste 
to  get  near  the  huge  stove  which  hummed 
away  joyously  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
let  fall  in  a  corner  the  heavy  furs  in  which 
I  was  wrapped,  when  my  compagnon  de  voyage 
appeared    with    a    beaming    face,    carrying    in 

92 


A,  jjiaBWiL J^  I'i-ir?  :"■ 


In  a  Snow  Storm 

both  hands  a  small  bundle,  with  all  the  pre- 
caution and  reverence  he  would  have  displayed 
in  bearing  the  Holy  Sacrament  itself. 

"Mon  mnir  said  he,  bowing,  "I  have  the 
honor  of  presenting  to  you  a  newly  fledged 
citizen  of  the  world,  to  whom  I  have  just 
given,  in  the  name  of  the  Faculty  of  Medicine 
of  Laval  University,  a  passport  for  the  stormy 
journey  on  the  Road  of  Existence,  without 
counting  that  of  the  Capes." 

"Is  it  possible— a  new-born  child?" 
"  Old,  monsieur,  pour  vous  servtr,"  said  our 
rescuer,    much    disturbed    but    all    smiles,   "a 
little    angel    of  the   good    God;   our  first!" 

"  On  Christmas  Eve,  too !  you  might  take 
him  for  the  Infant  Jesus   Himself." 

"It  is  indeed  true;  our  little  one  is  born 
on  Christmas  Eve!"  cried  the  happy  father, 
turning  towards  the  open  bedroom  door. 

"  You  see,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  is  him, 
not  me,  that  God  has  sent  you,  my  friend." 

"  Him  and  you  both,  sir !  all  of  you  !  you 
are  all  messengers  of  Heaven  here,"  cried  the 
brave  man,  drying  his  eyes  with  the  back  of 
his  sleeve. 

93 


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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

What  then? 

The  baby  was  very  weak  and  considering 
the  condition  of  the  roads,  it  was  absolutely 
out  of  the  question  to  carry  the  little  one  to 
church  for  at  least  three  days.  Therefore,  to 
calm  the  anxiety  of  the  poor  mother,  so 
terribly  unnerved  by  her  trial  on  this  night 
of  storm,  the  doctor  advised  that  a  private 
baptism  be  proceeded  with. 

"You  will   not  refuse  to  be  godfather,  will 
you?"  said   the   father,  addressing   me. 

"  Godfather  ?     most     willingly,     my     good 
fellow;     I    certainly    will    be    godfather." 
"And   you    will    name   the   boy?" 
"Noel,  why  not?     We  will  call  him  Noel; 
it  is  the  very  name  for  a  Christmas  child." 

"Noel,  that's  it;   it  will   go   perfectly  with 
my    family   name,   which    is    Toussaint."  * 

We  arranged  matters  as  fittingly  as 
possible.  The  doctor  officiated,  of  course; 
and  I  took  my  role  of  godfather  most 
seriously,  assisted  by  an  agreeable  god- 
mother, the  mother  of  the  sick  woman. 
I    see   you    smile;    well,   perhaps,    I    looked 


*  All  S,-i;rits'  Day. 


94 


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In  u  Snow  Storm 

rather    grotesque    in    my    ne^v   character,   but 
'f  you    had    been    there,   you    could    not   have 
smiled       When     the     water     of    re.^eneration 
nck-led      on      the      forehead      of     the     h'ttle 
beinfr,    so    frail,    so    helpless,    whose    life     by 
a  most  wonderful  interposition   of  Providence 
we   had  probably  saved,  at   its  very   entrance 
'nto   this   world,   you   could    not   help   turnin<r 
your   thoughts    back    from    this   humble   home 
to  the  sacred  stable  of  Bethlehem.     And   this 
'mpressio,.  was  so  real   to  me,  that  it  seemed 
as  though   I   actually  heard  the  voices  of  the 
shepherds   of  old,   when    our    comrade    Pierre 
who   had   gone   back    to   the   stable   to    finish 
h's   duties,   set   his    foot   on    the   threshold   of 
the   door,  giving   forth,  amid   the   booming   of 
the  tempest,  the  first  notes  of  the  old  carol  : 
"  ^^^  ^"S:<-'^  (^'iiis  nos  caiiipagncs—" 


^ 


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^^^^ 


We   fell  on  our  knees,  and   for  my  part- 
why  should    I    deny   it  ?_I    fdt    a    big    tear 

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Christmas  in  French  Cnnada 

running    down    my    cheek,    whicli     I    did    not 
even    attempt    to    conceal. 

But     the     ceremony    did     not    end    there. 

Pierre's    journey   to   the   stable   h.id    not    had 

the    interest   of  his   horses    for    its    only   end. 

His    Norman    sagacity    had     smelt     out     the 

contents  of  the  hamper  he  had  sfcn  us  tuck 

away   beneath   the   seat   of    the   cafiole  ;    and 

making    the    judicious     r-'ection     that    what 

was    good    for    the    aav    could    not    be    bad 

for      his      parishioners,      he      concluded     with 

sound     logic     that     the     midnight     watch     at 

the     presbytery     of     St.     Tite     having     been 

unavoidably  missed,  it    would    be    absurd    not 

to    utilize    the    good    things    elsewhere. 

Upon  this,  as  his  frozen  fingers  had 
recovered  their  normal  circulation,  he  had 
simply  brought  the  hamper  to  the  house, 
and  when  we  noticed  the  fact,  the  table 
was   already   prepared    for   the   feast. 

One  can  imagine  the  explosion  of  gayety 
which    followed. 

All  Pierre's  couplets  and  refrains  were 
gone  through,  accompanied  by  the  clinking 
of  the  glasses,  and  sustained   by  the   majestic 

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In  a  Snow  Storm 

voice  of    the  storm,   roaring    and    thundering 
in    the  distance. 

I     have    enjoyed    the     Christmas  fete     in 
France,    in    England    and    in    this   country    at 
my  house  and  at  the  houses  of  others  ;   well 
the  remembrance   of    the   finest    feast   I   ever 
sat  down    to    cannot    obliterate     the   memory 
of    that  joyful    repast,   and    the     merry    toast 
we   drank   that    night   to    the    health   of    this 
humble    son    of    peasants,  dozing    beside   his 
happy   mother   under   the  roof  of  a    miserable 
cottage,  isolated  in  the  mountains  and  shaken 
in   the  raging  grasp  of  a  northern  hurricane 


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^M. 


LITTLE  PAULINE 


ilTTLE    PAULINE,    little    Paul- 
ine, why,  so  young  and  already 
an  unbeliever ! 
You  do  not  believe  any  more 
in  Santa  Claus.  .  . 

Neither   in    the   bogie  man,  of 
course— the   one    being   the   com- 
plement of  the  other. 

Already  indifferent  to  infantine  legends' 
VVliat  will  it  be,  when  you  are  twenty,  when 
you  begin  to  discover  what  amount  of  decep- 
tion life  keeps  in  store  f.  -  the  hearts  fond  of 
fanciful    illusions? 

Had  she  learned  the  fact  through  her 
elder  brother,  or  had  the  little  maid  found 
It  out  herself  at  the  previous  Christmas? 

Half  awake  in  her  little  white  couch,  had 
98 


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Little  Pauline 

•she  treacherously  spfed,  by  the  dim  reflection 
of  the  night  lamp,  her  mamma  stealing  silently 
towards  the  fire-place,  where  the  small  shoes 
awaited  the  passage  of  Santa  Claus  ? 

At   all    events,   little    Pauline   had    lost  her 
childish  faith. 

Little  Pauline,  little  I'auline,  beware;  once 
on  the  path  of  scepticism,  where  shall  you 
stop  ? 

Farewell  to  the  radiant  visions  which 
make    you    smile    in    your    sleep! 

Farewell  to  the  beautiful  floating  angels 
who  lull  you  in  their  arms,  and  refresh 
your  brow  with  the  fanning  of  their  long 
silken    feathers! 

Farewell    to   the    first   illusions! 
Little    Pauline,    little    Pauline,    God    spare 
you    the   others! 

Little  I>auline  was  a  charming  lass  of  five 
years,  blonde  and  pretty,  with  soft  and 
dreaming  eyes,  very  tall  for  her  a-c  who 
could  "-ead  well  enough  already,  sing  \' song 
at  the  piano,  and  dance  a  minuet  with  ex- 
quisite   gracefulness. 

When     she    balanced     h.rself,     her    waist 

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Christmas  in  French  Canada 

elegantly  cambered,  the  point  of  her  foot 
projected  forward,  and  her  skirt  open  like  a 
fan  in  the  gentle  pressure  of  her  delicate 
fingers,  the  father  had  a  happy  smile,  the 
mother  was  ravished  uith  admiration,  and 
"Aunt  Lucy,"  crazy  with  pride,  would  seize 
the  child  like  a  prey,  enveloping  her  in  a 
jealous  and  rapturous  caress. 
Who  was  Aunt  Lucy? 

Aunt  Lucy,  who, 
by  the  way,  had  of  an 
aunt  only  the  name.  .  , 
and  tenderness,  was  the 
widow  of  a  man  whom 
she  adored,  and  who 
worshipped  her,  but  had 
left  her  childless. 

She  possessed  en- 
ough to  insure  her  independence;  but,  almost 
without  relatives,  she  had  found  herself  con- 
demned to  comparative  loneliness,  when  a 
young  married  couple,  hearty  friends  of  the 
departed  one,  invited  her  to  spend  some  time 
in  their  comfortable  and  happy  home. 

When   she   talked   of  leaving,   they   would 
not  let  her  go.  ,00 


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Little  Pauline 

Her  good  r.aturc,  her  delicate  disposition 
of  mind,  her  advice  always  dictated  by  the 
soundest  judgment,  together  with  any  amount 
of  petty  services  of  all  ki„d.  had  made  her 
the  benevolent  genius  of  the  house. 

She  had  grown  indispensable  ;  she  became 
one  of  the  family. 

In  the  meantime,  little  J'auline  was  born 
Usele.ss  to  tell  who  was  the  godmother. 
Aunt  Lucy  eagerly  took  possession  of  the 
baby,  which  henceforth  had  two  mothers. 
The  role  of  the  nurse  became  a  sinecure. 
The   true    mother    herself    had    one    only 
privilege,  that  of  offering  her  breast. 

This  stranger,  who  had  never  known  the 
felicity  and  ecstasies  of  maternity  began  to 
cherish  that  child  with  all  the  virginal  love 
treasured  up  in  her  heart. 

Her  worship  for  the  husband,  all  the 
affection,  all  the  devotion,  all  the  idolatry  she 
would  have  had  for  children  of  her  own  if 
God  had  given  her  any,  all  was  conveyed 
upon  that  sweet  little  blonde  head,  who  smiled 
to  her  old  days  with  an  ineffable  expression 
of  gratitude. 


lOI 


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j   ( 


Christmas  in  Frencli  Canada 

For   children,  as    is    the   case   with    certain 
beings  deprived  of  judgment,  if  they  have  not 
the  intuition  of  life  ^o  a  degree  which  permits 
them    to    reason    about   their   feeh'ngs,  have  at 
least  the  instinct   of  them,  and    h'ttle    Pauh-ne 
probably   without   reah-^ing    the    immensity  of 
such    an    affection,  gave    love    for   love    to  the 
old  friend  who  had  eyes  only  for  her. 

Little  Pauline  grew  up,  we  may  say,  in 
the  shadow  of  Aunt  L  cy. 

And  both,  the  rosy  baby  and  she  who 
could  have  been  her  grandmother,  became 
inseparable. 

At  night,  the  two  bedsteads,  the  large  and 
the  small  one,  were  side  by  side. 

At  table,  Aunt  Lucy  gave  the  beakfull  to 
h'ttle  Pauline,  who  turned  around  from  time 
to  time  to  caress  her  old  friends  cheek  with 
her  small  rosy  nailed  hand,  or  interrupted  her 
meal  to  pass  her  arms  around  the  good  lady's 
shoulder  like  a  graceful  necklace. 

The  child  followed  Aunt  Lucv  everywhere 
sat  by  her  side  to  lull  the  big  doll,  held  her 
hand  while  passing  from  one  room  to  the 
other,     entertained     her    with      inexhaustible 


I02 


IWalSltfaJi^nnrtjjifxnwsfintM 


Little  Pauline 

chattering,  or,  while  the  embroidery  or  the 
net-work  was  going  on,  amused  herself  by 
humming  fragments  of  melodies  like  a  night- 
ingale in  a  bush. 

If  little  Pauline  ever  per- 
ceived she  was  alone,  "Aunt 
Lucy!"  she  cried  with 
anxiety. 

There     is     always    some 
one     to     tease    children;    if 
any  body   ventured    to   say: 
"You    know,    little     Pauline, 
Aunty  Lucy  is  going  away!  " 
h'ttle  Pauline  would  raise  her 
eyes    with    alarm,    her    face 
would     take    an    expression 
of  supreme  distress,  and  the 
sweet  smile  of  her  dear  little 
lips    would   contract,  into    a 
convulsive  expression    prelu- 
sive to  a  sob.  /'au/,;u'. 

One  had  to  hasten  with:  "No.  no,  darling! 
nodarhng.it'sallforfun!-  or  else  the  poor 
httle  one  would  burst  into  tears. 

Her   brow   resumed    at   once   its  calmness. 
103 


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Cliiistmas  in  French  Canada 

but   her   little    breast    still   throbbed   a   while, 
like  that  of  a  wounded  bird. 
But  Cliristmas  was  coming. 
Christmas  bo.xes,  New  Year's  gifts,  presents 
of  all  kinds  were  freely  talked  of 

Little  Pauline's  eyes  sparkled,  questioning 
those  of  Aunt  Lucy,  whose  crow's  foJt 
wrinkled  in  a  mysterious  and  good  smile 
full  of  alluring  promises  and  joyful  fore- 
bodings. , 

"  If  little  Pauline  behaves  like  a  good 
girl,"  said  Aunt  Lucy,  "  if  she  says  her 
prayers  well  and  retires  early,  after  having 
hung  up  her  stockings  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed,  and  left  her  pretty  new  shoes  in  the 
chimney  corner,  sure  enough,  Santa  Claus, 
who  is  the  good  Jesus'  messenger,  will  come' 
down  this  night  and  fill  them  up  with  candies, 
dolls  and  toys." 

"  With  his  long  white  beard  ?  " 

"Yes,  love." 

"  With  his  big  pointed  hat  ? " 

"Yes,  my  beauty." 

"And  his  nice  fur  mantle?" 

"Yes,  my  treasure." 
104 


I 


Little  Pauline 

"And  his  large  basket?" 
"Yes,  darling,  full  of  beautiful  presents  for 
the  good  babies  who  g,^  to  bed  early  and  say 
their  prayers  well." 
"  Ah  !   Ah  I   Ah  !  .  .  " 

And  the  pearly  laugh  of  little  Pauline 
burst  out  fresh  and  ringing,  like  a  gurgling 
of  a  silver  stream,  while,  her  forehead  sur- 
rounded by  a  wreath  of  curl-papers,  and 
her  feet  entangled  in  the  folds  of  her 
white-laced  night  robe,  she  knelt  before 
Aunt  Lucy  with  a  cunning  wink  full  of 
provoking    incredulity. 

"And   you,   Aunty,"    said    she,    "are    you 
also    going    to    hang  your    stockings    at    the 
foot   of  your   bed,   and    put  your    new   boots 
on  the  hearth-stone?" 
"  Nonsense ! " 
"Why  not?" 

"My  stockings  and  my  boots  are  too  big; 
Santa  Claus  will  see  very  well  that  they  are' 
not  baby  things." 

"  Put  them  there  anyhow  ! " 
"What  for?" 

"To  please  little  Pauline." 
105 


it 


7 

1 

if 

V 

% 


-^9l«* 


Cliristnias  in  French  Canada 

Ah  !   well,   since   It   pleases   little    Pauline, 
Aunt  Lucy  will  obey  ;  it  is  written  ! 

And  here  are  Aunt  Lucy's  stockings  hang- 
inff  at  the  bars  of  her  brass  bedstead,  and 
her  slippers  ranged  near  the  andirons,  side 
by  side  with  the  new  shoes  of  little  Pauline, 
who  hides  her  blonde  head  in  her  p,|l,.ws,' 
quivering  and  laughing  like  a  tickled  baby,' 
with  the  same  sly  and  perfidious  expression 
of  face. 

Little  Pauline,  little  Pauline,  you  conceal 
some  mischief;  what  kind  of  plot  are  you 
meditating? 

There  you  are,  closing  your  eyes,  and 
pretending  to  sleep;  what  waggish  trick  are 
you   scheming,   little   Pauline? 

Every  evening,  after  prayer  and  night 
toilet,  Aunt  Lucy  used  to  sit  down  by  the 
cot,  hold  little  Pauline's  hand  in  her  own, 
and  talk  the  child  to  sleep  by  relating  to 
her  Cinderella,  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  and 
Aladdin's  Lamp,  or  some  other  fairy  tales 
which  told  of  beautiful  princesses  all  spark- 
h'ng  with  jewels,  drawn  by  quadrigas  of  gold 
horned   gazelles,   in    mother-of-pearl    carriages 

io6 


Little  Pauline 

roUinii    on    wheels    glittering    with    ch-amonds 
and   rubies. 

Some  other  time  she  would  sing,  endeav- 
oring tr,  imitate,  as  much  as  p.wsible  the 
accent  of  Gascony,  the  facetious  son-r  of 
Nadaud : 

I.anlitilii.   ,   , 

The  little  one   laughed    heartily,  and  more 
than  once  fell  asleep  murmuring: 

Za  Galoiiiie.  .  .   I.aiiliilu.  .  . 

But  that  evening  little  Pauline  asked  for 
neither  the  daily  fairy  tale,  nor  Nadauds 
song. 

It  appears  she  had  something  else  in 
mind. 

She  was  thinking,  the  little  rogue!  she 
was  thinking,  opening  now  and  then  just 
the  corner  of  an  eye,  to  see  if  Aunt  Lucy 
was   soon,    herself,   going   to    sleep. 

She  was  thinking  under  her  curtains, 
trembling  like  a  poor  anxious  turtle-dove, 
eyes  and  ears  on  the  look-out,  watching—' 
the    little    spy  !_a    kind   of  vague    rummage 

107 


(I 


]'!■ 

n 

■■ 

3 

!■ 

m 


Cliiistma.s  in  Frondi  Cauiuh 

and     smothered     noise     which     came     from 
mamma's  bed-room,  next  to  Aunt  Lucy's. 

At  last  Aunt   Lucy  is  asleep,  as  indicates 
herlongcr  and  more  accentuated  respiration. 

Aunt  Lucy  sleeps  ;  and  little  Pauline,  who 
•s   au-are   of  it.  outlines   a  cunning  smile,  and 
doubtless    to    be    in    a    better   position  to  hear 
and   see.   and    resist    at    the    same    time    the 
•sleepn^ess  which   threatens  to   take   possession 
of    her    also,    she    raises    her    fair    head    and 
gracefully    leans    it    .upon     her     plump    little 
hand,    and    with    her    elbow    sinking    in    her 
pillow,    A-aits   in    expectancy. 
What   is   she   waiting   for? 
Suddenly    some    footsteps    are     heard     or 
rather    guessed  ;     and     little     Pauline,    whose 
heart     beats     rapidly,     thrusts      herself     back 
"nder    her     blankets,    restless,     in     the     soft 
and   s.lky   feathers,   with    her  eyes   well   closed 
"P,  and  her  mouth  half  opened   for  a   smile 
just   like  a  child  who  had   been  sound  asleep 
for  an  hour. 

Ah!   little   Paulin,  little   Pauline,   what   a 
hypocrite  you  are.  .  .  i 

All  dressed  in  white  and  glad-looking,  like 
.08 


^ 
't 


Little  Pauline 

those  charming  phantoms  who  sometimes  pass 
throuK'h  our  youthful  dreams,  the  mother  has 
•stealthily  entered  the  room;  she  throws  a  long 
glance  to  her  child,  f^azes  with  gratitude  at 
the  sweet  and  kind  friend  who  has  made 
herself  the  guardian  angel  of  the  dear  little 
one,  and  then  wiping  a  tear  of  happiness 
which  has  glided  over  her  cheek,  she  stoops 
one  moment  before  the  pretty  stockings 
hanging  at    the    foot    of  little   Pauline's   bed. 

•  •  •  . 

She  has  left  now;  gone  towards  the  draw- 
ing room  where  stands  the  chimney  through 
which  Santa  Claus  is  to  come ;  and  soon  she 
returns,  pissing,  all  white  and  smiling,  ;n 
front  of  the  room  where  little  Pauline  peeps 
out,  white  and  smiling  also,  in  the  vague 
and  soft  glimmer  of  the  night  lamp. 
And  what  then? 

Ah!  h'ttle  Pauline,  you  are  a  terrible  rogue; 
but  what  a  delicious  picture  you  make  thus, 
m  that  dim  light  while  slipping  out  of  your 
bed,  frightened  and  shivering,  alone  with 
your  eyes  open  in  the  darkness  of  this  big 
silent  house! 

109 


1 1  i 


h  !i 


r 


I 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

What   is  she   doing? 

No    doubt     she     is     going     to     taste     the 
candies    her    mamma    has    dropped    into   the 
httle    stockings.      She     is     too    impatient    to 
wait    till    morning    to    admire    the    toys    and 
especially  the   sparkish    doll   under  which    her 
new  shoes  must  be  buried;  it  is  quite  natural. 
But  no,  far  from  it. 
She  hardly  looks  at  the  candies. 
They  rapidly  pass   through   her  hands  ;   to 
go  where? 

Not  far ;   right  into  the   stockings  of  Aunt 
Lucy,   who   is   sound   asleep. 

The     shares     are     quickly    made.       Little 
Pauhne     does     not     take     the     trouble     of 
counting;     and    when    Aunt     Lucy   gets     up 
in    the    morning,    she    will    have     no    reason 
to    complain    of    her    lot. 
But  this   is   not    all. 

Where  are  you  going  now,  little  Pauline  ? 
Are  you  not  afraid  of  the  black  dog.  crossing 
that  dark  and  lonely  parlor? 

Yes.  she  is;  she  trembles,  trembles,  the 
poor  thing;  but  she  walks  right  through  all 
the  same,  and  then  hastens  back,  after  having 


> 


no 


; 


Little  Pauline 

knelt  down   a   moment   in    front    of   the    biV 
fire-place.  ^ 

To-morrow,  Aunt  Lucy,  as  well  as  little 
Pauline,  will  find  lots  of  nice  presents  crammed 
m  her  boots. 

And  little  Pauline,  with  gleeful  heart 
returns  quietly,  quietly  to  her  bed,  and 
falls  asleep  with  her  face  turned  towards 
her  who  will  weep  to-morrow  in  discovering 
the  touching  fraud,  the  sacred  treachery  of 
the  httle  heroine  she  loves  more  than  life 

And  now,  little  Pauline,  you  do  not  hear 
the  sonorous  peals  of  the  church  bells  chim- 
ing  m   the   night. 

You  do  not  hear  the  sacred  hymns 
floatmg  in  the  illuminated  sanctuaries,  nor 
the  harmonies  of  the  great  organs  roaring 
and  thundering  under  the  arches  of  the 
iofty   vaults. 

You  do  not  see,  from  your  downy  little 
bed,  the  pious  crowd  kneeling  around  the 
manger  in  which  the  Infant-Jesus  outstretches 
h.s  httle  arms  towards  the  pious  and  kneeling 
crowd.  ^ 

No,     but    surely    the    good     angels     who 


if: 


n 


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f 
I 


li 


'-'^-■■amtmsm'- 


mmami: 


i'-: 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 
looked    at  you    this    evening    from    tl,e    alti- 
tudes   where    they  sang:    "Glory   to   God   in 
Heaven     and    peace    on    Earth    to    men    of 
good-w  1,     have  descended    towards  you,   my 
iKtle    Pauhne.    and    now    l«nd    their    heads 
over    the    white    couch    where  you    sleep,   to 
k.ss  your    brow,  and    bless  your    little    great 


(    :»', 


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RANDMAMMA,  tell 
us  a  story,  please." 

"A  story,  a  story, 
grandmamma ! " 
"  A  Christmas  story." 
"The   story   of  the   Man 
in  the  Moon.     You  promised 

to  tell  it." 
,     .     .     .  And     the    pretty    heads, 

.  .    "      ^     dark     with     opened     mouths     and 

^  113 


1 


I 


'I.. 


■WIS 


l^i 


Christinas  in  riencli  Canada 

chair  of  grandmamma,  who,  her   spectacles  on 
her  nose,  after  treating  herself  to   a   pinch   of 
Spanish    snuff,    took    her    net-work,    threw   a 
glance    around,    which     brought    a    smile    on 
her   wrinkled   lips,   dropped    her   woollen    ball 
into    the    apron    of    the   youngest,    began    to 
move    her    knitting-needles    rapidly   with    her 
long    and     slender     fingers,    and     then     com- 
menced   in    a    slightly    quivering    voice : 
"Once    upon    a   time,   my   children,  .  .  " 
At  this  ..loment,  there  was  a  stir  amongst 
the  listeners.     Everyone   moved    in  his   place; 
the    tallest    gave    a    little    cough  ;    the    most 
attentive      leaned     forward     with     elbows     on 
knees    and    chin    in    hands ;    then    there   was 
a    hush,   and    everyone    began    to   listen   with 
mouth,   eyes   and   ears. 

"Once  upon  a  time,  my  children,"  repeated 
the  old  lady  as  she  went  on  with  her  knitting, 
"  there  was  an  old  chateau,  very  old  indeed, 
very  gloomy  and  solitary,  standing  on  the 
rocky  flank  of  a  hill  crowned  by  a  forest  of 
large  oaks,  and  named  the  castle  of  Kerfoel. 

"  I  mean  that  this  was  its  real  name,  for 
it  was  better  known  in  the  country  as  the 
Devil's  Tower.  j,^ 


I' 


r.i,t»ssl«. 


n.i!.-V#5«itSt. 


The  Christmas  Los 

"  In  fact  it  was  said  that,  in  old  days,  the 
Devil  had  built  a  forge  and  furnace  in  one  of 
the  highest  rooms  of  the  turret,  where  he 
made  gold  for  the  owners  of  the  domain, 
who,  for  his  services,  belonged  to  him  from 
generation  to  generation. 

"There  must  have  been  some  evil  source 
for  the  wealth  of  these  wretched  miscreants, 
for,  from  the  top  of  their  towers,  one  could 
make  out  nothing  but  barren  and  dry  moors 
planted  here  and  there  with  big  fairy-stones, 
standing  up  like  men,  which  are  called  in 
Brittany    menhirs   or   Satan's   distaffs. 

"For  I  must  tell  you,  my  children,  that 
the  story  I  am  about  to  tell  took  place  in 
France,  in  the  old  province  called  Brittany, 
where  the  grandmother  of  my  own  grand- 
mother came  from,  when  our  people  settled 
in  this  land  of  America. 

"  Well,  in  the  days  I  am  speaking  of,  the 
lord  of  Kerfoel,  the  owner  of  the  Devil's 
Tower,  was  named  Robert.  He  was  crippled 
from  birth— bandy-legged  and  club-footed,  and 
this  deformity,  which  did  not  prevent  his  being 
as  strong    as   a    giant,    had    not    lightly    con- 

"S 


r 


« 


,^ 


' 


«^*^:ili 


Chiistnicis  in  French  Canada 

tributed  to  the  diabolical  reputation  he  had 
gained  by  his  ill  tempered,  ungoverned  and 
thoroughly   bad    character. 

"Brought  up  like  a  heathen,  he  had  passed 
his  youth  hunting  wild  boars  in  the  woods — 
even  on  Sundays  and  other  holy  days — 
harrying  the  poor  peasants,  blaspheming  the 
name  of  God,  and  indulging  in  ill  sorts  of 
wickedness.  He  was  never  seen  in  church ; 
he  never  uncovered  his  head  before  the 
Calvaries  he  passed  on  his  way ;  he  shame- 
lessly ate  meat  on  Fridays,  and  laughed  with 
impudence  at  funerals, 

"  People  pretended  they  had  seen  him  at 
night,  limping  on  his  twisted  leg  far  away  on 
the  moor,  in  company  with  the  great  big 
stones  I  told  you  of,  which  followed  him 
like  dogs  in  the  moonlight,  without  anybody 
being  able  to  tell  where  he  was  going.  In 
short,  the  Count  Robert  de  Kerfoel  was  a 
wretched  sinner,  fearing  neither  God  nor 
Satan,  sneering  at  holy  things,  and  although 
quite  young  yet,  had  by  this  impious  and 
sacrilegious  conduct  caused  his  mother's  death 
from  a  broken  heart.     As  to  his  father,  whose 

ii6 


Tlio  Christmas  Log 


life  had  hardly  been  better  than  his  son's,  he 
had  died— without  confession— in  a  corner  of 
the  forest,  where  his  body  had  been  found 
half-devoured    by   wolves. 

"It  was  a  sad  end,  indeed,  but  the  son 
was  to  finish  still  more  miserably,  as  you 
shall    see." 

No  interruption  was  to  be  heard  in  the 
little  group;  on  the  contrary  not  even  a 
finger  moved  ;  every  word,  every  syllable  was 
snapped  up,  and  the  attention  of  the  small 
audience  increased  as  the  good  old  lad)-  went 
on  with  her  narrative: 

"You    have   seen    the    man    in    the    moon, 
have  you   not,  my  children?" 
"Yes,  grandmamma." 
"A  lame  map." 
"Who  is  going  down  hill." 
"With  a  bundle  of  straw  on  his  shoulders." 
"  No,  a  faggot." 

"A  log,  children,  a  burning  log.  One  can 
see  him  clearly  at  night,  when  the  stars  glitter 
in  the  sky  and  when  the  full  moon  rolls  her 
silvery  disk  between  us  and  the  blue  depths 
of    the     firmament  ;     especially    on    the    holy 

117 


i 


Ml 


-mi" 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Christmas  night,  when  Santa  Claus  goes 
from  house  to  house  with  his  presents  for 
the  good  little  children;  when  the  church 
windows  mingle  their  rosy  glare  with  the 
pale  lights  which  /Till  from  Heaven  0,1  the 
snow-covered  hills;  you  have  seen  him,  have 
you  not?" 

"Yes,   yes,   grandmamma." 

"With    the   log   on    his   shoulder." 

"Yes,   and    with  his   cn-oked    leg," 

"Well,   listen,   now." 

And    the   little  circle    pressed    once    more 

around  the  rocking  chair,  while  grandmamma 

continued  : 

"  In  Brittany—the  valiant  land  of  Brittany 
—in    that   good    old    fatherland   of   our    fore- 
fathers, Christmas  was  not  celebrated  as  it  is 
here,  where  we  simply  attend   midnight  mass 
and  drink  a  glass  of  liquor,  nibbling  a  branch 
of  croqnignole  sprinkled   with   powdered   sugar 
There,   it  was    the   peasants'  day,  the   feast  of 
the   poor,   and   the  country  festival  .hove  all 
others. 

"The   folk   gathered   in   the   chateaux   and 
large  farm   houses  ;   and   there  young  and   old 

118 


/ft        ii 


The  (Jliristmas  Log 

waited  for  midnight  mass  with  all  manner  of 
rejoicinfj. 

"  First,    they    had    what    was     called     the 
'Christmas   log,'   a    huge    fragment    cut     from 
the   trunk  of  a  tree,  prepared  and   well   dried 
beforehand,    which    was    burnt    in    the    great 
chimnev    ..'re,    after    having    been     baptized 
by  dr.ppjng  o 'er  it  a  brimmer  of  wine   from 
the   l.-st   vintag,  ;   after   which   they   sang   the 
old  care' :   and  .easted  with  cider  and  niadles. 
"  Nieu.ies,    you    know,    were    crusty    little 
cakes    baked    for  Christmas  only.     No  Christ- 
mas  was   complete   without   them. 

"So  they  used  to  crunch  nieulles ;  chucIi 
nieuUes,  you  understand.  Evidently  the  origin 
of  our    croquignoles. 

"And  they  danced.  Ah!  well,  our  fore- 
fathers had  not  fine  pianos  as  we  have 
to-day.  The  violin  it.self  was  still  unknown 
in  the  villages  of  Brittany.  No  waltzes,  nor 
quadrilles,  nor  even  cotillions.  Boys  and  girls 
danced  the  bourrce  and  the  ..uole  to  the  sound 
of  the  binioH,  an  instrument  something  like  the 
bagpipes  you  have  seen  with  the  Scotch  regi- 
ments. 


• 


;  '  ■( 


!   ll'i 


"9 


m 


\m 


m 


..^l^^'iil 


^^f'H 


life 


Cliristiiias  in  French  Canada 

"No  floors  brilliantly  waxed,  either,  my 
children;  nor  Oriental  carpets,  nor  elegant 
■shininn;  pumps.  But  people  did  not  enjoy  it 
the  less  for  that,  I  fancy;  at  all  event-  it 
was  not  the  harmonious  c//r-c/ac  of  the  beecli- 
tree  shoes  on  the  resounding  flagstones  that 
could    spoil    the    music. 

"  As  3-ou  can  easily  imagine,  my  pets,  the 
Holy  Christmas  was  not  celebrated  in  this 
fashion    at   the   Devil's   tower. 

"The  people  at  the  chateau  on  that  night 
(lid  but  as  we  do  here  ;  they  simply  wcnt'^to 
church  to  adore  the  divine  Infant  in  his 
manger,  and  returned  silently  to  gather 
around  the  hearth,  where  the  old  game- 
keeper Le  Goffic,  like  your  grandmammas 
to-daj-,  used  to  relate  some  old  story,  or 
sing  some  old  carol,  but  in  a  very  low  voice, 
of  course,  for  fear  of  being  overheard  by  the' 
master. 

"  And  it  was  thus,  over  anr  over  from  one 
•season  to  another,  the  years  following  in  sad- 
ness ai.J  fear,  without  a  moment  of  gayety, 
without    a   glimmer   ol"  joyousness. 

"One    morning    it    happened    that    Count 


my 


The  Christmas  Loir 

Robert  sent  for  his  steward,  Yvon  Kerouak, 
and  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  Then  he' 
ordered  his  l.est  steed  to  be  saddled,  and 
with  a  heavy  traveHinir  bag  well  buckled 
on  the  croup,  he  started  away  without  saying 
a  word  to  a  living   soul. 

"Where   did    he   go?     Nobody  ever   knew. 
"  Months      followed      weeks,      and      j-ears 
months,   without    bringing   the   slightest    news 
of  him.     After  a   long  while  he  was  supposed 
to   be   dead,   and    everyone    made  the  sign   of 
the   cross    on    his    breast    with    his    thumb   on 
hearing   the   name   of   the   Count   de    Kerfoel, 
who    must    have    been    the    victim    of    some' 
dreadful    punishment,   and    who    surely    would 
never   be   seen    again    in    this    life,   and,    if    it 
pleased    God,    in    the   other   either. 

"Twenty  j'ears  had  gone  by.  The  steward, 
the  housekeeper,  and  other  servants  had  grown 
grc)-;  the  old  watchman  Le  Goffic  counted  over 
eighty  years;  and  everyone  having  become 
convinced  that  the  absentee  would  never 
return,  a  more  peaceful  life  had  introduced 
itself  by  degrees,  if  not  under  the  lofty 
ceilings    of    the    state    rooms,   at    least    under 

121 


m 


■I 


.^ 


1^  II 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

the    smoked     rafters     of    the    common     hall, 
where     the    peasants    and    shepherds    of    the' 
neighborhood    occasionally  gathered  on  public 
festivals  or  days  of  rest,  to  enjoy  themselves. 
"  In  short,  thanks  to  the  disappearance  of 
Count    Robert,    the    inhabitants     of    the    old 
chateau     had    begun    to    lead    a    more   quiet 
and    happy  life;   and    merry  times   became  as 
frequent   at    the    Devil's    Tower    as    anywhere 
else. 

"Especially  on  Christmas  Eve  was  there 
joyful  merry  making  and  abundant  feasting 
under  the  battlements  of  the  old  Tower 
which  might  not  have  failed,  in  time,  to 
acquire  a  Christian  reputation,  if  the  tragical 
event  I  am  going  to  relate  had  not  added 
Its    fantastic    page   to   the   old   legend. 

"One  year  the  inhabitants  of" the  chAteau 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  celebrate  Christ- 
mas Eve  with  exceptional  splendor.  A  hu-e 
billet  cut  out  of  one  of  the  giant  oaks  of 
the  park  had  been  prepared  for  the  cere.nony; 
and,  as  early  as  eight  o'clock  in  the  evenin-' 
all  the  neighbors,  the  biniou-player  headin-,' 
crowded    into   the   large    hall   of  the  chateau 


taa 


■m'^ 


The  Christmas  Log 


illuminated  by  rosin  torches  and  the  lively 
blaze  which  already  caressed  the  Christmas 
log  proudly  in.stalled  right  in  the  centre  of 
the   hearth. 

"The  foamii.o;  cider  was  passed  around, 
stimulating  joyous  repartees  and  provoking 
explosions  of  laughter  among  tiic  feasrers ; 
and  each  one  swallowed  his  bumper  to  the 
ringing  of  the  rustic  goblets,  while,  and 
through  all,  droned  the  long  and  snuffling 
notes  of  the  biniou. 
"Suddenly: 

"'Noel!  Noel!  .  .  '  cried  all  the  voices  in 
one  enthusiastic  acclamation  which  made  the 
old  Gothic  windows  with  their  colored  and 
leaded  panes  tinkle.  The  Christmas  log  had 
just  taken  fire,  crackling  and  spreading  all 
about   showers  o^  brilliant  sparks. 

"'The  baptism!  the  baptism!'  cried  every- 
one. 

"'Uncle  Le  Goffic !  to  you  the  honors  of 
the  ceremony ! ' 

"'Come,  baptize  the  Christmas  log,  uncle 
Le  Goffic!' 

"'Uncle    Le   Goffic!   i;icle   Le   Goffic!' 
123 


11' 


11 


~^.=^t»>im 


'  '  '"^-f  ''^'!W*'^wKB■"'■■!:^^ 


.*'ii 


Christmns  in  French  Canada 

"And    all     fell    on    their    knees,    while    the 
old    game-keeper,    with    bare    head,    advanced 
towards     the     lar-e      fire-place,     whose     lijxht 
shone    like    a    glory    around    his    long   white 
hair,  outlining-  as  on  a  golden  background,  the 
majest-  and  imposing  figure  of  the  old  man. 
"  •  Ju   the   name   of  the   Father,   ami  of  the 
Son,   and  of  the   Holy    Ghost!'   said    he    in    a 
low    and    solemn    tone,    while    his    knotty   and 
trembling  hand  dropped  a  ruby-like  string  of 
wine   on    the    heavy    fragment    of   oak    bitten 
by   the   winding   blaze. 

.  "The  bystanders  had  not  time  to  answer 
amen,  before  a  wild  gust  of  \\i,ul  swept  aside 
the  flames  of  the  hearth,  and  in  the  opened 
door  stood  the  evil  and  deformed  figure  of 
Count    Robert   de   Kerfoel. 

"Everyone  stood  up,  dumb  and  horrified. 
After  a  moment  of  deadly  silence,  the  new- 
comer threw  a  ferocious  glance  about,  and 
with  a  drawn  sword,  advanced  through  the 
terrified    peasants   towards   the   chimney. 

"'Par  la  mort  Dien !'  cried  he  with  a 
haughty  and  thundering  voice,  'since  when 
has    my   dwelling   become   the    scene   of   such 

124 


I.; 


.11: 


L 


—-'■mifilT''- ""•■ — 


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(l)risf('iiiii(j  tli('    Christ iiiKs   ]j)(j 


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111 


,J-J 


mi 


The  Christmas  Loy- 

o 

ridiculous    mummeries?    .    .    Jo,;],'    added    he, 
as    he    turned    towards    his    old    groom    and 
pointed   to  the  blazing  fire,  'throw  away  this 
emblem    of  a   cursed   superstition!" 
"  An  exclamation  of  terror  followed  : 

The  Christmas  log  ? ' 
"'Yes,  the  Christmas  log,  out  of  this   with 
it!    Do  you  hear  me,  Joei  ? 

•"My  Lord  Count,'  replied  Joel,  kneeling 
down  in  fear,  'the  Christmas  log  is  sacred: 
I'd  rather  die  than  touch  it.' 

"  The  count  Robert  was  crazy  with  rage. 
'"By  all  the  devils!'  yelled  he,  addressing 
the   steward,   whom    he   had    just   detected    in 
the   crowd,   'who   commands   here,  Yvon  Ker- 
ouak  ? ' 

'"My  Lord  Count,'  replied  the  steward, 
'  the  Christmas  log  is  hallowed  ;  to  touch  it 
would  be  a  crime!' 

"'It  would  be  a  crime!'  repeated  all  like 
an   echo. 

"At  this  the  exasperation  of  the  miscreant 
knew  no  bounds. 

"'Stupid  idiots!'  cried  he. 

"And    then,    laying   hold   of   two    jugs    of 

"5 


■i 


*f*,vfri=. 


Christmas  in  Froncli  Canada 

cider,  he  emptied  tlicm  over  the  burning 
log.  and  pulled  the  same  with  his  own 
hands  ovt  of  iU.  fire-place,  and  lifted  it 
to  his  shclder  without  rej^ard  to  the  fire- 
brands which  singed  his  hair  and  shrivelled 
his   skin. 

'"My     I.,rd     Count/     besought     the     old 
game-keeper,    .shivering    from    head     to     foot 
'the      Christmas      log     has      been      baptized.' 
beware    of    Gods    h.nd,    my    Lord    C'ount  ' ' 
"'Sacrilecre!'     exclaimed     several     voices 
as    hmi  Mig    .n    a    dreadful    fashion     his    back 
bent     under     the     weight     of     the    smoking 
b.llet,   the    Count    stepped    across    the    thres- 
hold,   and,    with     horrible     blasphemies,    dis- 
appeared   in    the    outside    darkness. 

"'Let  us  kneel  down!'  cried  old  Le  Goffic 
"But    it    .-as   too    late;    a    terrible   cry   of 
distress,    wh.Vh     had     in     it    nothing    human, 
sounded    in    the    nigh,    raising    up    the   hair 
of  all    the   witnesses    of  the   terrible   scene 

"And  never  again  was  the  Count  Robert 
de  Kerfool.  the  'ast  Lord  of  the  Devil's 
lower,    seen     aiuongst    the    living. 

"Eve,       K.    that   night,   my  children,  one 
126 


The  Christmas  Locr 
can  see  on  the  shfnin<r  disk  of  the  moon  in 
clear  weather,  a  man  with  a  twisted  knee 
stooping  under  a  strange  burden  in  which 
those  who  see  clearly  enough  can  make  out 
a  half-burnt  log  ,till    fla,r,ing   here   and    there 

"The  unfortunate  Count  Robert  is  con- 
demned to  .any  the  burden  on  his  shoulder 
untd    the   day   of  the   last  judgment." 

"  And  it  is  he  we  see  in  the  moon,  grand- 
mamma?" 

"They  say  so,  my  children." 

"With  the  Christmas  log?" 
"Yes,  my  children." 
"With  his  crooked  leg?" 
"  And  his  club-foot?" 
"  Yes." 

"Is  that  story  true?"  asked  one  of  the 
^•rchins,  who  had  listened  most  attentively 
and    with    the   most   widely   opened    eyes. 

"Pshaw!"  said  the  tallest  of  the  girls-  "a 
fairy    tale."  ' 

"  Well,  of  course,  my  children,"  said  the 
grandmother,  smilingly,  "you  asked  me  for 
a  Christmas  story.  I  have  related  you  what 
was   related  to   me  when    I   was   a  child  ;  you 

'27 


H: 


h^ii 


Clnistnias  in  Frencli  Canada 

may  do    the    same    in    your   turn    when   you 
are    old  ;    let    your    h'stciicrs    believe    if  they 
'  wish." 


laS 


IfPWFilll 


M.. 


if.Htk»<h 


n   you 
r  they 


eannetfe. 


lEANNETTK.     a     chubby 
httle  maid,  roly-poly  and 
plump,  with  inviting  dim- 
ples and  wary  black  eyes, 
had,      at      first— oh! 
immediately  !     almost 
from  birth — shown  an 
instinctive  antipathy  for  her 
father. 

VVhen  he  leaned  over  her  cradle  with  a 
kiss  on  his  lips,  she  would  outline  a  grimace 
of  dislike  at  him,  and   if  he  opened  his  arms 


^r 


ij- 


129 


Christmas  in  Frencli  Canada 

for  an  embrace,  she  would  turn  to  her  mother, 
with  outstretched  hands,  as  if  to  implore  help. 

A  painful  circumstance,  which  changed 
the   face  of  things,   came  to  console   him. 

Jeannette  fell  ill. 

During  several  days,  a  devouring  fever 
hollowed  her  cheeks,  dulled  her  eyes,  and,  so 
to  speak,  gnawed  her  thin  and  shivering  little 
limbs. 

The  father  did  his  best  to  encourage  his 
wife  in  despair.  When  the  poor  mother 
took  a  little  rest,  he  in  his  turn  sat  at  the 
bed-side  of  the  little  one,  and  bending  over 
her  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  heavy-hearted  and 
dejected,  he  almost  imprecated  his  powerless- 
ness  to  relieve  the  dear  child  for  whose  health 
he  would  so  willingly  have  given  his  own,  a 
thousand  times. 

One  morning  Jeannette  opened  her  eyes 
at  the  very  moment  when  a  heavy  tear 
splashed  on  her  poor,  pale,  helpless  little  hand. 

She  had  the  strength  to  turn  her  head 
toward  her  father  ;  and  then,  these  two  beings 
so  different  in  age  and  in  nature,  exchanged 
one  of  those   looks   that   are   never   forgotten, 

130 


I 


Jeannette 

and  by  which  is  sometimes  effected  that  trans- 
fusion of  souls,  that  only  those  who  are  made 
to  love  passionately  can  understand. 

The  father  had  conquered  the  heart  of  his 
child;  the  child  had  guessed  and  sounded 
that  of  her  father. 

Convalescence  is  rapid  with  the  little 
ones.  The  dear  invalid  took  a  new  lease  on 
life;  her  cheeks  bloomed  anew,  her  large, 
velvety  eyes  recovered  their  pristine  brightness,' 
her  pretty  diinples  appeared  once  more  as  the' 
lurking-place  of  sweet  kisses,  her  lips,  !ong 
mute  and  livid,  found  again  their  smile,  their 
color   and    their   silvery  notes. 

The   house   became   once    more    as  ringin- 
as  a  spring  day,  and  as  cheerful  as  a  sunbeam" 
^   revolution  had  taken  place  in  Jeannette's 
character  ;  she  adored  her  father. 

She  was  never  happier  than,  when  sitting 
on  h.s  knees,  she  pulled  his  beard,  tickled  his 
neck,  or  teased  him  with  a  thousand  coaxincr 
caresses,  while  she  prattled  as  uninterruptedly 
as  :.  finch  on  a  marauding  expedition. 

On    his    side,    never   was    the   father   more 
beaming   with  joy   than    when   he   rocked   the 

131 


if 


^ 


1! 


il 


Christmas  in  Frencli  Canada 

arch    little    lass    in    his   arms,   relating   to   her 
the  adventures  of  Hop-o'-my-Thumb,  or  singing 
to  her  some  ballad  of  the  times  of  yore. 
Do  not  ask  me  if  they  were  happy. 
But  all  this  is  digression. 
Jeannette  had  grown  ;  she  was  now  turned 
four  years,   and    the   affection   she   had  vowed 
to   her   father   had    not   diminished. 

On  the  contrary,  the  little  one  had  become 
his  inseparable  companion;  and,  as  long  as 
he  was  at  home,  she  deafened,  or  rather 
charmed  him  by  her  chatter,  told  him  a 
myriad  adorable  nothings,  and  asked  him 
a  thousand  questions  which  the  good  papa 
answered  with  imperturbable  complacency. 

At  the  coming  of  Christmas,  a  holiday  so 
impatiently  awaited  by  the  little  foiks,  the 
conversation  between  the  parents  and  babies 
runs,  naturally  enough,  on  the  presents  to 
which  this  time  of  the  year  almost  always 
gives  rise  in  well-to-do  families. 

This  was  Jeannette's  great  preoccupation. 
The  day  before  Christmas  Eve,  as  the  family 
dinner  was  drawing  to  a  close,  all  at  once 
she    became    pensive,    and    after  a   moment's 

132 


lii  & 


Jeannette 

reflection,  durii.g  which  the  graceful  curve  of 
her  eye-brows  had  become  somewhat  marred 
in  the  struggle  of  a  confused  thought,  she  said 
brusquely : 

"  Tell    me,  papa,   is   it   the    Infant-Jesus  or 
Santa  Claus  who  comes  down  in  the  chimney- 
to   put   presents    in    the    shoes    of    the    little 
children  who  have  been  good  ? " 
"Why   do   you    ask  me   that?" 
"Weil,   there    are    some    people    who   say 
that   it    is   Santa   Claus,   and    others   who   say 
it   is   the    Infant-Jesus." 

"  They  both    come,  my  love  ;    each   one  in 
turn,  each  one  his  year." 

"And  this  year   it   is   the   turn    of ? 

"  Of  the    Infant-Jesus." 
And    as   the   child  clapped  her  hands  with 
a  joyous  exclamation,  the  father  added : 
"  You  are  glad  ?  " 
"  Oh  !  yes." 

"You    love    the    Infant-Jesus    better   than 
Santa  Claus?" 
"  Yes,  indeed." 
"  But  why  ?  " 
"  Because  ....!" 


n> 


^33 


f(! 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

And  Jeannette  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth 
with  a  deh'ciously  provoking  expression  of  face. 

"  Tell  me  why,"  insisted  the  father  ;  "  Santa 
Claus   brought  you  handsome  toys  last  year" 

"  Yes." 

"  With  a  beautiful  big  doll." 
"  Yes." 

"  Then  why   don't   you    love   him  ?  " 
"  Because  .  .  .  he  is  not  good  to  everybody." 
"  He   is    not   good    to   everybody  ? " 
"  No ;  he  does  not  love  the  little  children 
who   are   poor ;  he   does    not   give   them  any- 
thing." 

"Are    you    sure    that    Santa    Claus    gives 
nothing   to   the   poor  children?" 

"I  am  ;  Rosina   told    me   so." 

"Who  is  Rosina?" 

"The  washerwoman's  little  girl.  I  asked 
her  if  she  was  going  to  put  her  shoes  in  the 
chimney  to-morrow  night.  She  said  she 
had  put  them  last  year,  but  that  she  had 
found  nothing  in  them,  although  she  had  been 
ever  so  good.  Her  mother  says  that  Santa 
Claus  only  goes  to  rich  people.  But  since  it 
is    the     Infant-Jesus    who   comes   this    year,    I 

»34 


^j 


Jeannette 

will  tell  Rosina  to  try  again.  Little  Jesus 
must  love  poor  people  as  much  as  the  others, 
since  he  was  poor  himself." 

"  But  are  you  sure  that  he  will  go  ? " 
Jeannette    remained   a   few   moments   non- 
plussed ;  but  after  a  moment's  reflection  : 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "He  will  go.  I  shall  pray 
him  hard,  hard,  and  surel/  he  won't  refuse 
me." 

An  hour  after  ;  softly  enveloped  in  her  fresh 
white  night   dress,  her  chin  propped  upon  her 
primly  folded  hands,  and  her  knees  sunk  in  the 
long  silky  hairs  of  a  llama  skin  rug,  Jeannette 
prayed    like  a  little  angel  that  she  was  ;    then 
while    the    mother    gave   her   the   good    night 
kiss,   and    tucked    in    warmly  the   covering   of 
the    little    bed,   tne    name   of    Rosina   passed 
like  a  sigh  on  the  lips   of  the   sleeping   child. 
When    the  morning  sun  stained  with  pink 
the    window    of   the    room    where    she   slept, 
Jeannette    rose    absorbed    in    thought.        Her 
father's  last  words  "  Are  you  sure  that  he  will 
go?  "    returned    to   her  memory,  and  the  child 
began   not    to    be   so    sure   of  the   efficacy   of 
her    prayer, 

'35 


li 


I*- 

I 


n    IB 

if! 


■  -"**»«:'i>»?-n«'» 


II    j 


Cliiistnias  in  French  Canada 

"After  all,  perhaps  he  will  not  go"  she 
•said  to  herself.  And  this  supposition  saddened 
her   almost   to   tears. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  this  mornincr 
my  Jeannette,"  said  the  father;  "you    are  not 
so  gay   as    usual.      Don't   you    know   that    to- 
n.Rht    is   Christmas   Eve,   and    tiiat,  since   you 
have  been  very  good,  to-morrow  morning  your 
I'ttle    shoes,   and    even    your    little    stockings 
perhaps,  will  be  crammed  with  prettv  things?" 
Jeannette  smiled,  but   remained   pensive. 
"I'apa,"    3he    said     as     though     she     had 
suddenly  come  to  a  decision,  "if  I    knew  how 
to   write  ....  but   I  can   only  sign   my  name." 
"What  would  you  do  if  you  could  write?" 
"  I    would    write   a    letter." 
"To   whom?" 
"  To  little  Jesus." 

"  Well,  my  love,  tell  me  what  you  want  to 
tell  the   Infant-Jesus  ;  I   will  write  to  him,  and 
you   will    sign." 
"  Truly  ?  " 

"At   once,   if  you    want." 
"And    it   will    be   the  same  thing?" 
"Exactly   the    same." 
136 


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tell  the   . 
you   will 
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"  And 
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Jeannette 


I 


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"  Oh  !   dear  good   papa ! " 
And    the    little    one    threw    herself    into 
the   arms    of  the   "dear       .>d    papa."   who.   a 

^'''  "^'""^^'-^  '^  -«•'  w,  a  ng  at  his  desk 
writing  the  following  letter  dictated  word  for 
word    by    his   spoilt   pet  : 

Dear  Little  Jesus, 

"To-morrow  is  your  feast  of  Chrislmas,  and  as  I 
have  been  very  good.  1  put  „,y  ,„,,,  ,„  „,^  ,,^^^, 
s.one.  just  like  the  other  children.  But  give  me  only 
your  p.c,ure,  and  take  the  presents  to  Rosina  ,vho 
-  very  good  also,  but  .hose  mother  is  a  poor  widow 
You  know  her  house,  dont  you?  I.s  on  Sanguinet 
street.     There  is  a  big  tree  right  in  front-  - 

Here  Jeannette  jumped. 
A  big  tear,  similar  to  the  one  that  had 
wakened  her  one  day  by  falling  on  her  sick 
little  hand,  had  just  wet  the  paper,  where  the 
father's  nervous  fingers  had  some  difficulty  in 
following   the   lines. 

"Why  do  you  cry?"  she  asked,  passing 
a  pudgy  little  arm  around  his  neck  and 
looking   tenderly   into    his   eyes. 

Too  much  moved  to  answer,  the  good 
father  took  his  child  in   his   arms,  pressed  her 

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Christmas  in  French  Canjuhi 

closely  to  his  heart,  cnvelcpincr  her  in  a 
lasting  passionate  embrace;  and  for  a  long, 
long  time,  he  jealously  contemplated  his 
treasure  through  the  tears  of  happiness  and 
love   that    filled    his   eyes. 

When  the  little  one  had  scribbled  her  name 
at  the  foot  of  her  touching  letter  to  the  Infant- 
Jesus,  her  father  stood  up  and  walked  up  and 
down  for  a  k^v  minutes  to  recover  himself 
Then,  with  his  back  turned,  he  stood  for  some 
time  before  the  window  of  his  study,  his  gaze 
lost  in  the  brilliant  azure  of  the  December 
•sl<y  ;  and  when  entering  the  room,  the  mother 
-tenderly  loved  also-heard  him  murmur  in 
a   half-sob : 

"Provided    God    does    not   take   her   away 
from   us  .... " 

At  night  the  naive  missive,  carefully 
directed,  lay  in  the  little  shoe  slid  behind 
the  fire  dogs;  and,  after  having  said  her 
prayers  as  the  night  before,  Jeannette  softly 
fell  asleep  amid  her  white  laces,  to  dream  of 
Child  Jesus,  of  the  good  Angels  and  of 
Paradise. 

Not  far  from  there,  in  a  humble  and    lowly 


wii:r 


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ula 

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lated  his 
iness    and 

her  name 

le  Infant- 

d  up  and 

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for  some 

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December 

3  mother 

urmur  in 

er   away 

carefully 
behind 
aid  her 
e  softly 
ream  of 
and     of 

d   lowly 


Jeannette 

home,  at  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn,  a  poor 
httle  girl-who  sometimes  accompanied  her 
mother  when  the  latter  brougiit  newly- 
washed  clothes  to  the  house  of  Jean- 
nette's  parents-the  little  Rosina  so  warmly 
recommended  in  the  letter  to  the  Infant- 
Jesus,  had  a  great  surprise  and  a  great 
joy. 

Beaming  with  haj.piness,  she  carried  to 
her  mother's  bedside  a  pink-cheeked,  yellow- 
haired    doll   in   elaborate   costume. 

Her  old  shoes  had  disappeared,  yielding 
the  place  in  the  corner  of  the  chimney  to 
warm  and  elegant  boots  in  both  of  which 
-shone  a  gold  coin. 

Of  course  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  that 
on  the  special  recommendation  of  her  mother, 
the   child's   first   visit   was   to   Jeannette. 

"  Me,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  have  not  a  doll, 
nor  new  shoes,  nor  gold  pieces,  but  I  have 
more  than  all  that.  The  little  Jesus  gave  me 
his    picture.     Here   it   is." 

And  she  ran  to  get  a  pretty  chromo-litho- 
graph,  very  brilliantly  festooned  with  gold 
arabe.sques,   showing   the   divine    Infant  in  his 

'29 


}\ 


■  .Si 


U 


Christmas  in  French  Cnnada 
"ganger.       On   the   back    of   the  picture    was 
-scnbed  in  a  superb  round   hand! 

To  Jeannette,  from  ,he  Little  Jesus. 

"It  comes   from   Him?" 

"Yes,    I    found    it   i„    my   shoe" 

"Oh!   how  beautiful   He  is  I"  cried  Rosina 
enthusiastically.  ^osma 

nett?    "'   "'    ^harmin^P"   approved   Jean- 

"And    how   well    He   writes!" 
"Yes,    He   writes  just   like    Marius." 
By    the   way.   Marius   was   a   valet,   whose 
graphical     talent     was     generally     p  t      in L 
requ.s.tion     when     there     was    som^    c^^ 
writmg    to   be  done. 

No.  Jeannette   had   no  other  presents    for 
Chnstmas    that   year,   but    she    lost    no    time 
by  wa,t.ng,  for  papa  and  mamma  took   thei 
revenge   royally   on   the   Ne^v   Year 
Jeannette   is   now   nineteen. 
She  is  a  tall,  handsome  brunette,  who  has 

Tall         ;    f '"    "    '''    '-'    '^-    C-her!: 
ball,^and    who    cherishes   her   father   as    much 

140 


r .  v»  i- »  i  *i  J  A  <  i  «■  -  « i*  8-*  i  -  V- 


Jeannette 

Recently  she  happened  to  unlock  an 
elegant  ca.,ke.  in  the  presence  of  one  of 
her   friends. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "this  is  a  picture  I 
have  kept  since  I  .as  a  four  years  old 
httle   bit  of  a   thing." 

"Really?     Oh!   the  pretty   Christ   Child." 

"  Is    It   not   nice  ?  " 

"Why    don't    you     put     this     little    jewel 
among    your    other    knick-knacks?" 

"Ah!    well,    do    you     see,"    answered    the 
young  girl   hesitatingly,   "  I   don't   know  why 
but    every    time    that    papa    looks     at    it     it 
never   fails   to   bring   a   tear   to   his   eyes"' 


M' 


141 


ni 


f; 


■-aSiS^>Ka!^iBK:Bias 


^v^xvx    The  Phuntom  Head 


HE  traveller  of  to-day 
who    crosses    the    St. 
Lawrence      between 
Quebec      and     Levis, 
during      the      winter 
season,    comfortably 
seated  between  decks   in   the  powerful 
screw   steamers    which   occupy   only   a 
(e\v  minutes   in    passing  from  shore  to 
shore,    forcing    their   way    through    the 
drifting    floes,    untroubled    by   mist   or 
wind    driven    snow,    can    have    but    a 
>4a 


rfraBCT 


r^of:^ 
0 


Tho  Phantom  Head 

faint  idea   of  what   this  crossing,  in  old  days, 
really  meant. 

The    trip  was   made   in   heavy   canoes,   or 
dug-outs,  formed  of  two   large   trunks   solidly 
joined    by  a   wide   and    flat    keel    of  polished 
oak,   turned    up    at    both    ends,    so   that   the 
craft  could  be  used  as  a  sledge  when  needed. 
The  captain  sat  astern,  on  a  small  platform 
where  he  commanded  the  manoeuvring,  steering 
with    a    special    paddle;    while,    at   the   bow 
sometimes     standing     right     on    the    p,-„ce~ 
the  slender    projection    of   the   p.ow-another 
fearless      fellow      explored      the     passes     and 
watched   the   false  openings. 

In  the   front  of  the   pilot,   a   certain   space 
was   reserved    for   the  passengers  lying  on  the 
flat   bottom,   wrapped    up    and    covered    with 
buffalo    robes,    perfectly    protected    from     the 
cold,   but    with    hardly   the   power   of  moving 
The    rest    of  the   canoe   was   crossed    with 
thin    planks,   equally   spaced,   which   not    only 
strengthened    the     craft,     but    also    served   as 
seats    for    the    men,    who     paddled    in    time 
encouraging      themselves      with      voice      and 
gesture. 

'43 


^ 


'1  '"il 


if 


i'i 


K 


RT^»     ^^(f^^p.,0^ 


Christinas  in  French  Canada 

It  was  a  hard  calling;  and,  as  the 
Canadian  winters  of  those  times  were  much 
more  severe  than  those  of  ours,  it  was  some- 
times a  dangerous  one. 

Every    launching    of   the    canoe— that    is, 
every   start    from    the   shore-gave   a   thrill  to 
the    sturdiest.       Down    from    the   top    of    the 
batture~(thQ     icy    rampart    built    along     the 
beach   by  the   rising   and    falling   of  the    tide, 
and   the    constant    grinding    and    breaking   of 
the    drifting    floes)_down    from    the    top    of 
the  batture  into  the  dark  and  swirling  waters 
the    crew    hurriedly    jumping    on    board    in    a 
desperate    entanglement    of    hands,    legs    and 
arms,   it   was  a  matter  of  a  few  seconds  only, 
but    every    heart    stood    still    until    the   flying 
start   was   accomplished. 

And,  Nagc\  camnmdcs  1  ....  Haut  les 
cocurs  !  .   .   .   .     Lcs  botis  petits  coeurs ! 

Enormous  lumps  of  greenish  ice  block  the 
way:  quick!  go  for  them!  There  we  are! 
Down  with  the  paddle,  shoulder  the  rope,  and, 
forward  again  on  the  frozen  surface  of  the 
river ! 

Further  on,  great  masses  are  crammed  and 
144 


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■«^,. 


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life 

1 


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i 


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'1  ■'( 


'I 


Tho  Phantom  Head 


heaped  up  one  upon  the  other.  The  passage 
■seems  impracticable.  ...  No  matter,  hoist  up 
the  canoe,  and  forward  once  more  over  the 
obstacle  I 

A   crevice  opens  before  us  ;    it  is  an  abyss 
perhaps.  .  .  .      Never    mind,    drive    on   at  all 

hazards  !     Wet  snow  freezes  and  sticks  to  the 
-sides  of  the  canoe,  impeding  our  advance  :  not 
a  moment  to  lose  :   roll  in  !  roll  in.  boys  !  .  .  . 
And   off  we  are  again! 

Now  it  is  different  ;    everything  gives  way 
all    around.     It   is    „o   longer   water  ;  it    is  no 
longer:.     Paddling   is   impossible ;  no  point 
of  support    to   heave   upon ;    prisoners   in    the 
melting    snow    and    the   dis.  olving   ice  I 
Courage,  boys  ......    Away,  away,  altogether ! 

forward,  anyhow  !  .  .  .  . 

And  the  struggle  might  go  on  for  hours 
sometimes  even  for  the  whole  day. 

Oh !  yes,  it  was  a  hard  calling  indeed, 
y.ctor  Hugo  has  depicted  the  "Toilers  of  the 
Sea.  He  should  have  seen  the  canoe-men  of 
■Levis   at   work  ! 


'45 


it 


I  ! 


I  h    1 


^'} 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

II 

Some  thirty  years  ago,  I  happened  to  be 
m  company  with  a  newly-married  couple  from 
Horida,  who  had  been  original  enough  to  un- 
dertake a  wedding  journey  through  Lower 
Canada   in    mid-winter. 

These    travellers,    from    a   country   fragrant 
with  magnolia  blossom,  and   oranges   ripening 
in    January,    found    a    deep     interest    in    the 
peculiarities  of  our  winter   weather;    and  as  a 
proof  that   their  wanderings  had  been  planned 
with     tiie     intelligence     and    sagacity   of  two 
lovers  in  search  of  the   picturesque,  it  will  be 
sufficient   to   say  that  their   itinerary   included 
a  visit    to   Quebec   and   its   vicinity,  the   mid- 
night  mass    in    the    old    historic   cathedral,   a 
shde   on    the    frozen    cone    of    Montmorency, 
and  a  moonlight  crossing  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
au'd   the   floating   ice. 

They  had  reached  Levis  in  the  morning 
of  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  to  insure 
the  moonlight  crossing,  had  spent  the  day 
at  the  Victoria  Hotel,  where,  as  an  old 
acquaintance  of  the  husband,  I  had  hastened 
to  join    them.  ,.^6 


►«*«4»i»«<;«-,i»«''«»»''***iiiii 


(la 


led  to  be 
Liple  from 
?h  to  un- 
h    Lower 

fragrant 
ripening 
in    tlie 
and  as  a 
planned 
of  two 
t  will  be 
included 
he  mid- 
ledral,   a 
norency, 
awrence 

morning 
insure 
he  day 
an  old 
lastened 


The  Phantom  Plead 

In   the  evening,  we  made  ourselves  read^• 

and  started  for  the  quarters  where   the  cano;.' 

-en   generally   stood    waiting   for   passengers. 

it  IS  fine  moonlight,  that's  true,"  said  one 

of  them    a    fellow   by   the   name   of    Na.aire 

Jodom.  ..but  the  cold  is  bitter  and   the    fioes 

-n    fas,    I    tell   you!     I     ■  ou   don't    wish    to 

would'  7''  °"  ''^  '^"'^  ^^  ^^— nt.  r 
would  adv,se  you  not  to  face  the  ice  bef^e 
a    co,p,      ,,   ,,^^^        ^^    ^^^^^    ^^^.^^    ^ 

Po.nte-a  Puyseaux  with   such   a  current.     Old 
Baron    h.mself  would    not   dare   to   try   it" 
"Where   is   old    Baron?" 

"At  Uncle  Vien's,  smoking  his  pipe.  But 
he  won  take  you  across  before  eleven  or 
half  past,  take  my  word  for  it-  You  can 
walk  m  and  warm  yourselves  until  the  ebb 
-over,   and    by   low   tide,  I'llland   you   safe 

and    sound   in   the   Cul-de-sac,    just    L   quick 

as    you   can   desire." 

"Well,  then,"  said  I  to  my  friends,  "  wait 
for  me,  I  will  consult  with  old  Baron  ;  he  is 
the   oracle   in   such    matters." 

"We   will   go   with   you"   said    th^ 
lady.  ^'^^   y"""^^ 

H7 


!    I 


,1i 


•i'ii 


;ifi 


I J 


t 


I  u'\  ' 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 


h  ■    I 


"  But,  madam,  remember  I  am  not  going 
into   a   drawing-room." 

"What  do  I  care?  We  are  not  looking 
for  luxuries  in  our  crossing  of  the  St.  Law- 
rence  this    freezing    night." 

"But  those  people  smoke  like  volcanoes; 
you    will    be   suffocated." 

"  It  cannot  be  worse  than  our  negroes' 
cabins,    I    presume." 

"Oh!   certainly   not." 

"  I  am  used  to  that,  let  us  go !  I  travel 
not  only  to  see  the  country,  but  also  its 
inhabitants." 

"  All  right,  then  ;  the  fact  is,  you  will  see 
only  honest  people,  somewhat  rustic  in  their 
manner,   but   all    kind,   good-beared    fellows." 

I  knew  the  house  of  old  Vien;  we  entered 
without  knocking,  to  find  ourselves  in  a  large 
hall  surrounded  by  wooden  benches  running 
close  to  the  wails.  On  these  benches,  with 
crossed  legs,  or  elbows  on  their  knees,  a 
•score  of  canoe-men  smoked  their  brown 
pipes,  exchanging  from  time  to  time  a  few 
words  with  indifference  or  good-natured 
interest. 

148 


The  Phantom  Head 

Others,  more  recently  arrived  from  out- 
side,  with  frozen  boots  and  soaking  beards 
dried  their  leather  mittens,  striking  the  floor 
with    their    feet,    around     the    huge    cast-iron 

stove   which    roared    away   in    the    centre    of 

the   room. 

These  men,  in  more  or  less   shabby  attire 
wore,  for  the  most  part,  a  grey  or  red  flannel 
shirt  under  a  round   jacket  made  of  baracan 
corduroy    or    ^offe  du  pays    tightly    fastened 
around  the  waist  by  a    belt   of  gaudy  colored 
wool.     A    fur  cap  pulled  down  to  their  ej'es  • 
their  trousers  half  buried  in  long-legged  moc- 
casins  were   held    up   on    the   hip    by   a   well- 
buckled    strap.-suspeuders  being  inconvenient 
for   the   handling   of  the   paddle. 

There    they   were,   young   and    old,   black- 
bearded     or    grey-haired,    hardly    distinct     in 
the   confused    lights    falling    from    the     tallow 
candles    held    on    the    wall    by   tin    brackets, 
and    which    were     themselves     hardly    distin- 
gu.shable    through    the    smoke    of    the    pipes 
and    the   vapor   produced    by   drying   clothes. 
Two      passengers,     seated      in      a     corner 
awaited,  like  ourselves,  the  favorable  moment 

to   start. 

149 


/  t 


k 


ft"  !| 


'Ml 


M:        11 


i  H; 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 


I  :   ?^ 


III 

On  our  entrance  all  conversation  ceased 
and  each  o,ie  uncovered  himself,  for  pol;te- 
ncss  is  traditional  with  the  French  Canadian, 
liumble   as    may    be   his   position    in    life. 

''Entrcz,  uurw.clle!  entre,,  ccs  messieurs  t» 
said  the  master  of  the  house,  advancing; 
"come    and    seat    yourselves.      You    wish    to 

cross,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"Ves,  M.  Vien,"  said 
1,  "and  at  once  if  pos- 
sible. What  do  you  think 
'if  it,  M.  Baron  ?  " 

"  It  is  always  possible 
to  tempt  Providence,"  sen- 
ten  tiously  answered  a  tall 
old  man,  white-headed 
and  honest-looking,  who 
was  smoking  his  short 
pipe  ajxirt  from  the  others,  seated  on  the  only 
chair  there  was  in  the  room,  "  it  is  always 
possible  to  tempt  Providence,  but  it  does  not 
bring  good  luct:." 

"You    believe   there   is   a   risk?" 
'SO 


Old  Baron. 


ititit'itui*. 


«.«.«i»iPI»-!*»j« 


said 


The  IMiaiitom  Head 

"  There   fs  at  least  the  risk  of  passing,  the 
night  on  the  ice ;    and  with  a  cn'arure  (lady) 
>t  IS   not  a  pleasant  thing." 

"You  can  depend  on  old  Baron,"  intervened 
our   host,   "he   seldom    gives    bad    advice" 

"That's  true,"  said  one  of  the  smoking 
crowd  ;  "  if  poor  Sanschagrin  had  listened  to 
h-m.  last  year,  he  would  probably  be  still  in 
the  world." 

"  Well."  said  one  of  the  canoe  men  who 
had  not  spoken  yet-a  man  with  a  gloomy 
air  and  a  long  black  beard-"  he  had  seen 
leter.^--  head,  you  understand;  and  when  a 
fellow   has   seen    Peter's    head  .  .  .  .  " 

"He  is  bound  to  perish  within  a  year" 
added    one   of  his   comrades. 

"  ^•"^'^'■^"^  '^^  •'  '^  I  had  the  misfortune  to 
see  such  a  thing,"  said  another  voice  "I 
wouldn't    board    a   canoe   for   a   thousand! " 

"I  wouldn't  touch  a  paddle  for  a  fortune'" 
added  another  fellow. 

"Nor  I,  surely!"  exclaimed  several 
listeners. 

"  A   legend  ?  "   whispered  my  friend's   wife 
to  whom  the  good  old    man    had    courteously 

'S' 


n 


i(- 


I!, 


Iv 


'■a! 
ill 


!l;' 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

offered  the  only  chair  in  the  hall,  "  a  legend  ? 
It  is  a  godsend  ;  pray,  have  them  tell  us  the 
story." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  Peter's  head  ? " 
said  I  to  the  man  who  had  first  alluded  to 
the  matter. 

"Friend    Baron    can    tell    you    about   that 
better     than     I,"    said     the    man    of    gloomy 
appearance,  "  the  thing  happened  in  his  days." 
"Sure   enough!"   .said   old    Vien ;    "Baron 
knew   Peter   Soulard    well,   and    .so   did    I.     A 
young   man   of  good  character,  but  not  lucky. 
^^^   "If    he    was    not   lucky,"   .said   old    Baron, 
"he    was    not    very   prudent   either,   the   poor 
devil  !      Take    my   word,    mcs  gars,  it  is  very 
well    to    be  brave   and    valiant,   but   one   must 
not   tempt    Providence.     One  never  repents  of 
having     been    too     cautious,    while    he    often 
regrets    not   having   been   cautious  enough.      I 
don't  like  to  boast,  but  I  have  paddled  across 
the     St.      Lawrence     in     winter,    spring,    and 
autumn,   in  all  kinds  of  weather,  almost  every 
day   of    my    life,   and    I    never   met   with    the 
slightest    accident.      Why?      Because    I    never 
played     the     braggart,     and      always      hated 

152 


j*T,-Jij»«#««5 


^iMJkiJ 


kA'  { 


i^aiiim 


!'i 


i  i 


li'^ 


At    I'lH-le    V }('})' s 


•'l^!t•  1.1,- 


till  (I 


f.vi 


I 


'^-"^^^^^^^**^!#«*Prt»ii^-.  m. 


of, 
It 

stc 


the 


beti 
app 

It 

you  I 

"he 

devil 

well 

not   t 

havin 

rcfrret 

don't 

the     i 

autiim 

day   o 

slighte 

played 


S'iii 


VVr-f.        ,t«i,| 


iie     iv;is     nf)i    Inckv. 


I  '.kUi.l.c'i : 


r 


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\'i 


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i 


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'(     If 


If 


The  riiantom  Head 

bravado.  I  was  not  scared  by  trifles,  certainly 
not ;  but  I  was  never  ashamed  to  witiuiraw 
before  a  real  danger.  One  can  risk  his  own 
life  if  he  wishes,  when  not  stopped  by  the 
fear  of  God,  but  the  hVes  of  others  are  not 
to  be  played  with.  Unfortunately  poor  Peter 
Soulard  was  more  courageous  than  prudent. 
He  preferred  facing  any  danger  than  to  be 
suspected  of  cowardice." 

And  old  Baron,  yielding  to  enthusiastic 
recollections,  told  us  the  story  of  Peter 
Soulard. 


IV 

The  story  takes  us  back  to  January.   1844. 

The  winter  was  exceptionally  severe.  Al- 
most uninterrupted  easterly  winds  had  blown 
over  the  region  of  Quebec,  blizzard  upon 
blizzard,  in  rolling  avalanches  of  hail  and 
blinding  snow,  which  made  the  crossing  of 
the  river  most  difficult  and  .sometimes 
impossible. 

The  tide  drifted,  from  morning  till  night, 
and  from  night  till  morning,  mountains  oi^ 
ice   which    broke    furiously   on    the   angles   of 

^53 


i      '      I 


\      ill 


I 


ft  1 


iA\ 


•ii 


■^*   3^- 


m 


Christmas  in  French  Cniimla 
the   wharves   with    cremendous   crnsh.     It   was 
only   at   intervals   that    the    eye    could    reach 
from    one    shore    to    the    other,    through    the 
heavy   fogs   tormented    by   the   squalls 

The  life  was  hard  for  the  poor  canoe-men. 
VVhen  they  left  their  homes  in  the  morning. 
the>'  were  not  always  sure  to  be  back  it 
night. 

One  day,  however,  the  sun  had  risen  on 
a  clear  and  calm  atmosphere.  The  cold  was 
sharp,  but  dry.  One  could  hear  the  ice-floes 
creaking  in  the  distance,  and  the  snow,  hard- 
ened by  the  frost,  cracked  under  the  k^f 
but  the  sky  shone,  limpid  and  transparent 
like   blue   rock   crystal. 

The  floes  had  gathered  so  abundantly 
dunng  the  night,  that  they  had  frozen  into 
a  solid  mass,  closing  the  outlet  of  the  Quebec 
basin  at  the  place  where  the  river  suddenly 
narrows,  between  Point  Levis  and  the  south- 
west  end  of  the  Island  of  Orleans.  To  use 
the  technical  expression:  "the  ice  hnVJge 
was    frozen    at    the    key." 

Now.  when   the   ice   bridge   freezes   -    ih^ 
key.    the   rest   of  the   floes   which   come   from 

IS4 


The  I'lijintom  Head 

above  are  still  driven  i,p  and  down  by  the 
current,  so  that  the  rising  tide  thrusts  them 
several  miles  backwards,  until  the  ebb  drives 
them  down  against  the  formidable  barrier. 
This   is   called   the    "Chariot." 

When    the   chariot   is   up   above,   the    river 
between   Quebec  and    Levis    is   clear,  and    the 
crossing   is  just   as    free  as    in   summer   time; 
but    beware   when    the    gigantic    mass,    filling 
the   space    from    shore    to    shore,    runs    down 
to   hurl    itself  against   the   rampart    that    bars 
its  way  to   the  Gulf!     The   impact   is  terrible. 
Woe   to  those   who   are  caught    in    the    jaws 
of  the    blind    monster  I 

As  already  stated,  the  weather  was 
exceptionally  fine,  but  the  river  was  no 
less  threatening.  Peter  Soulard,  who  com- 
manded a  canoe  of  his  own,  had  crossed 
from  Levis  to  Quebec  early  in  the  morning; 
and  after  having  loaded  his  homeward  cargo,' 
was  preparing  for  his  return  to  the  south' 
she  re. 

Unfortunately,  one  of  his  passengers  had 
caused  him  to  lose  much  precious  time,  and 
the   chariot,  driven    down    by  the   ebbing  tide, 

'55 


ri 


lit. 


u 


v     f 


Chri.stmas  in  Freudi  Canada 

was    already    doubling    the    Foulon's    wharves 

when   l>eter  Soulard.  his   paddle  in   his   hand' 

cned    out    with    all    the    .^ight    of  his    lungs-' 

"All    aboard!     all     aboard-      £,„^,„y,,  ,, 

C7iibarqitc  !  " 

"  It    is    late,    Peter ! '"    remarked    some   one 
"  I^«"'t    bother  me,    please ;    I     .-    ,,,    ,,i,^, 
1    am    about." 

"  Your  canoe  is  too  heavily  loaded," 
observed  another;  "  vc)u  will  have  the 
chariot  on  you  before  you  can  reach 
loint    Levis." 

"Mind  your  own  business!"  was  the 
only  reply.  "  Do  you  take  me  for  a  green- 
horn  ?  " 

"Peter."  called  old  Baron  himself,  who 
happened  to  be  near  b^-,  "no  tom-foolery 
n^y  friend  ;  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained 
by    tempting    Providence." 

"  You   are  a  set  of  old  women,"  cried    out 

Peter    Soulard,    launching   his  canoe   from   the 

top  of  the  batture  of  the    Champlain    Market 

It   was   a   heavy   plunge    in    a    resounding 

gush  of  foam  ;  the  paddles  strenuously  dipped 

"^to   the   waves;    and    the    canoe,    manned   by 

•56 


The  Phautoni  Head 


? 


■s.xtcen  passengers  and  crew,  shot  away 
under  the  blue  sky,  leaving  a  long  silverv' 
fack    n.    the   dark    waters    behind,   while    th'e 

bravJy.''"'     °'     ''''"     ''°"'^'''     '"''^"^    -^ 

The  tide  ran  with  extreme  violence  ;  in 
a  re^v  moments,  they  were  out  of  sight  in 
the   direction    of  the    West    India    pier 

Twenty  minutes  later,  the  roaring  chariot 
was  opposite  Quebec,  and  the  idlers,  who 
watched  the  torrent  dashing  along,  .saw  old 
Baron  stealthily  crossing  himself,  with  his 
eyes   turned   offward. 

That    evening,    when    the    early    night    of 
January   spread    its    darkness    over    the    hills 
of  Lev.s.   two   men  were   seen    walking   alon. 
the  ,ce-covered  beach,  sobbing  and  shaken  b^ 
convulsive   shiverings.     It   was    Peter    SoularJ 
who  had  escaped  from  death  as  by  a  miracle' 
wUh  one  of  his  comrades.    The  other  fourteen 
had     perished-drowned     in     the    tumultuous 
waters,    or    ruthlessly     crushed     beneath     the 

onward    rush    of    the    snv-uro 

uic    .savage    mass. 

'57 


1 1 


ll! 


fl 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

_   Strange      to      say,      the      terrible       lesson. 
fr'^Htful     as     it     was.     was     of    no     avail     to 
the     reckless     man.       Two     years     later,     his 
Jiab.tual    imprudence   brought   to   a    fatal   end 
two     more     unfortunates      who     ventured     to 
embark   with   him.  in    spite  of  the   reputation 
of  fatalism    naturally   attached    to   his    person. 
But    this    time    it    was    the    end    of    him 
also,  and    a   most   tragical    one.   too. 

While  clinging  to  the   flank  of  his  canoe 

wh.ch    had    capsized    in    mid-stream,  a  rapidly 

n-nning   floe  of  fee.  thin  and  sharp  as  a  steel 

blade,   struck   him    a    fair   blow   in    the   neck 

and   cut   his    head    clear    from   his   shoulders' 

•n    full    sight   of  his   horrified   companions,   as 

swiftly   as    would    have   done    the    fatal    knife 

of  the   guillotine   itself 

The  head  of  the  unfortunate  man  bounded 
ofifward,  and  slid  by  starts,  leaving  behind  a 
dreadful    trace   of    blood    upon    the   ice. 

In  that  dangerous  part  of  the  Quebec 
basin,  known  as  "  .w/;r  /..  ,/,,cv  r-Hscs" 
between  the  two  churches  of  St.  Joseph 
and  Beauport,  especially  in  foggy  or  snov.- 
dnfting  weather,  the  horrible  head  sometimes 

'58 


I 


iiii*i*t*'insifi 


WfWRJf 


^ 


The  Pliaiitom  Head 

appears    to    the    terrified    crew    led    astray   in 

those   perilous   waters. 

Suddenly,    they    see.    emerging    from    the 

n^'ll<y  darkness,  a  huge  slab  of  floating  ice 
on  which  rolls  and  bounds  a  black  and 
shapeless  object  hardly  distinguishable  in  the 
shifting    light. 

It   is    Peter  Soulard's  head. 

Then,  about!  about!  without  losing  a 
second !  Woe  to  those  who  have  seen  the 
spectre:  they  must  die  within  the  year,  and 
generally  by  a  sudden  and   tragical   death. 

It  was  said  poor  Octave  Sanschagrin  had 
once  been   in  such  a  crew. 


Old   Baron    was  at  this  point  in  his  story 
when  a  loud  voice  resounded  outside  : 
"All    aboard  !  all  aboard!" 

Instantly  all  the  canoe-men   were   on   their 
feet. 

I^'lt's    low    tide;  water  still;  come  on!" 

"How    many    passengers?" 

"Five," 

'59 


I  I 


(M 


i 


:^ 


t' 


'  i> 


U      I' 


\ 


Chi'istnms  in  French  Canada 

"  One  canoe  and  eight  good  paddlers  will 
be   enough." 

"  Murry    up,    it's  your  turn,   Nazaire." 
"And   it's   lucky  for  you,"  said   I.  "for  you 

are    going    to    take    across   a   newly    married 

couple." 

"  You  don't  say  !  " 

"  Yes,    and    who   see  the  St.   Lawrence  for 
the    first   time." 

"  Is   that   so  ?  " 

"Yes,    it    will    bring   you    luck." 

"Ah!  well,  then,  if  .such  be  the  case 
listen  to  me:  I  have  a  brand  new  craft 
which  I  intended  to  hansel  on  New  Year's 
day;   why  not  hansel   htr  to-night?" 

"  That's  an    idea  !  "  said  old  Baron  ;  "  is  she 
ready  ?  " 

"  She  has  only  t(^  be  taken  out  of  the  shed 
and    launched." 

"Get    her   out,  then." 
"  You    order  so  ?  " 

"  Of  course !     We   shall   christen    her    like 
a    three-master." 

"Will    the    little    lady   consent    to   be   god- 
mother !'  " 

160 


ida 

idlers  will 

lire." 

"  for  )-ou 
married 

rence   for 


he  case, 
iw  craft 
/    Year's 

"is  she 

:he  shed 


ler    like 
)e   god- 


The  Phantom  Head 

"I  should    think   so!"    I   exclaimed,   "and 
her   husband    will    be  godfather.      As   to   „.e 

;    7/:\^"-'    ^   ^hall   furnish   the  liquid.' 
is   that   right  ?  " 

"That's   right!" 
"  Hurrah  ! " 

"Well      then,      forward,      hearties! 
Ho  !...."  ■  ■  ' 

We    started,    and    «,o„    the    elegant   new 
craft,  dressed  up  with  flags,  and  with  a  joyou, 
crew-some    at    the  rope  and    others   at    the 
gunwale    slid    along   the   sloping  path   whieh 
led     to     the    r  ver        A      f.».r 

re  .  ^     ''^^    moments    were 

sufficient    to   reach    the    beach. 

Old   Baron   accompanied  us. 
"Uncle     Kdouard,"    said     Na.aire     Jodoin 
addressing   him  ■    "  vo.i    cN.ii  J  ^uom, 

^      ™,       you    shall    come   with    us 

wont   you.P     You    shall  command  ;  it   will    be 
another   good   omen    for   my   canoe" 

Old     Baron    never    hesitated    when    called 
upon    to   perform   a    task   of  any   kind 

"As  you  wish,  boys!"  said    he,    "but    since 
we  are  going  to  baptize  a  new  Christian,  have 

you  thought  of  choosing  a  name  for  he;." 
In  fact,  wc  must  choose  ^  name." 

i6i 


,!( 


i 

mi 


IJ: 


Cliristnms  in  French  Canada 

"Well,"  said  somebody,  "it  is  Christmas 
Kve-iV.v/  ill  Frencli-why  shouldn't  we  call 
her  Xoci}  " 

"  No,  no  !  '■  intervened  the  owner ;  "  I  I,avc 
lost  a  law  suit  with  Nocil  J^audoin  of  St- 
Henri:   I    won't    name    my    canoe    Nor/\" 

"In    that    case     we    might    call     her     the 
Infant-JcsHsr    f)roposed    one    of  the   crew. 

"  Tanfan   Rheaume,  )-„u'd  better  liold  y„ur 

tongue.     We    are  not  at   church  here.     Would 

>-ou    only    promise    never    to    swear    o.i    board 

this  canoe,  if  it  was  called  the   Infant- J csusr^ 

"  Well  .  .  .  now  .  .  .  '■ 

"Of  course  not,  you  wouldn't.  We  are 
too  great  sinners,  do  you  hear  me?  all  of  us, 
to   give   such    names    to   our   canoes." 

"  If  we   called  her    Santa  Claus  ..."  said 
a   voice. 

"Ves!  to  have  lier  rush  with  her  load 
into  Mother  ]iegin's  garret,  like  Michel 
Couture's  canoe  which  bore  that  name  ?  You 
remember  when  she  broke  her  rope  running 
down  the    Eraser   hill  ?  " 

"  Into   a   garret,   )ou   said  ?  " 

"Yes,  Madame,  at  night,  on  her  way  down 
162 


iSs«*S!«^ 


iT  J  %f  Is  LaJLAi^J  i-J 


nada 

i  Christinas 
J  n't  \vc  call 

;i' ;  '"  I  have 
oin  of  St- 
ATor/]" 

1  Iicr     the 
crew, 
hold  )'()iir 

•c.     Would 

on    board 

mt-Jcsus  ?  " 

We   are 

all  of  us, 

•  .  "  said 

her    load 

2  Michel 
ic  ?  You 
:    running 


ay  down 


T'le  /'(.aiitom  Hea<l 


^™"    St.   Joseph,   by   land       The   „.  ,   , 
°'>    'he    same    level     „    T    !;  ""-"^    '■» 

-■^^  -  ia,ie„ :' h"  „ ;:  ^^^  -. 

'""«tl   of  f„|,„„,,.  "■  "'^"'^'^  loose,  a,„| 

partition    frames  n,„|    u    ,  '  '"""S"'   «"™s. 

'-"■     You  ca^  i        ■        ""'  ""■"'  ">-■•  -n. 

"A„d.!^e      J"'  r;'  ''""''-  fo-l«." 

'He,a,i;\:i:'r:,^'--K.e.a.,.„, 

"Oh!     no!"    u-as    \\.       , 

"^h-^    would    have    been    I         '^''"^    "^•^"^'- '• 
^'-'^"   too   much." 
i'l-^'ten   to    me  •  f    r 

be    agreed    upon,"  'said    l"''  7  '""^"•^^'  ^^'■" 
the  group.     «  Let  us  ^^'^^"cing  towards 

;^'-   godmother.  ■brCTwLV'^"'"^ 
^hnstmn  name,  Madam.."  ''   >'°^"- 

"Mary,   sir." 

"'St   time   ;„   his   life 
163 


m 


^>jy^i 


M     1)1 


r     r 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"  Merry    Christmas  !  hurrah  !  .  .  .  " 

At  this  moment,  the  first  call  to  midnight 
mass  rang  in  the  distance,  and  at  the  majestic 
sound  of  the  bells  of  Notre-Dame  in  full  peal, 
the  traditional  libation  glided  over  the  prow 
of  the  swift  canoe,  while  twenty  joyful  voices 
cried  :  "  Merry  Christmas  1 "  to  the  echoes  of 
the  lofty  hills  which  face  the  rock  of  old 
Quebec. 

A  few  minutes  later,  my  companions  and 
1  were  warmly  nestled  down  amid  the  heavy 
furs  heaped  at  the  bottom  of  the  canoe.  The 
light  craft,  with  her  prow  turned  towards  the 
river,  advanced  slowl>-  at  first,  head  (jverhang- 
ing  in  the  space,  balanced  there  for  one 
moment,  and  then,  carried  away  by  the 
weight  of  the  paddlers  jumping  aboard,  she 
shot  forward  like  an  arrow,  dived  into  the 
waves,  rebounded  like  a  ball,  and  under  the 
effort  of  eight  good  ])addlcs  skilfully  handled, 
swept    off  in    the    whirling    foam. 

"  Merry    Christmas  !  "  cried  the  paddlers. 

"  Merry  Christmas ! "  repeated  old  Baron, 
who  sat  astern,  bent  on  his  long  paddle 
wriggling  in  the  eddy  like  the  tail  of  a  Triton. 

i6j. 


i 

} 


.m.  IE 


la 


Tiidni^ht 
majestic 
full  peal, 
he  prow 
111  voices 
choes  of 
of    old 


lions  and 
le  heavy 
oc.  The 
ards  the 
)verhang- 

for    one 

by  the 
aard,   she 

into  the 
ndcr    the 

handled, 

iddlers. 
d    Baron, 
y    paddle 
a  Triton. 


4: 


The  rhantom  Head 

"Let  us  have  a  song!"  cried  somebody. 

"No,  boys,  no  songs  to-night!"  said  old 
Karon,  "but  a    Christmas   hymn    if  you    like." 

And  with  a  true  and  sonorous  voice  which 
old  age  had  not  )et  aflfected,  the  old  veteran 
of  the  St.  Lawrence  canoe-men,  intoned  over 
our  heads  the  old  carol  whose  cheerful  rhythm 
keeps  time  so  well  with  the  movement  of  the 
paddles,  and  which  sums  up  the  whole 
Christian    Legend  : 

//  es/  tid,  k  divii)  Etifaii/  .- 
Joiiez,  hau/hois  !  rhoniiez,  muselle!:  ! 
II  est  iid,  !e  diviii  Enfant : 
Chantons  tons  son  avhtemeiit ! 


^ 


^^£ 


gfeg 


e^  «   di  ••      9M.   tn  -  liAu^ 


^^^^m 


^^ 


1  r  *        I  ■-™— — ■     J 

ft=r 


m 


'jt 


::i=^t=-^ 


±=t: 


<3*A      n€  ^  A  di  -  vt*t.  Ut.  -  fiZF: 


5 


'65 


'h 


I 


Christmas  in  Frondi  Canada 

To   which   the    manly   voices   of   the   crew 
answered    in    unison  : 


a    I 


|'( 


//  est  III',  le  i/h'hi  F.iifiuit .' 

I  shall  never  for<,fet  that  wonderful  voyafjc. 

We  sped  on,  rapidly,  under  the  sparkling 
blue  sky,  flooded  by  the  white  ra>s  of  the 
moon,  which  spread  afar  its  silvery  glitter 
over  the  undulation  of  the  waves.  One 
could  fancy  that  each  star,  as  ..  magic 
spark,  lighted  thousands  of  flaming  cressets 
here  and  there  among  the  masses  of  the 
resting    floes. 

No,  I  shall  never  forget  that  delightful 
voyage. 

Suddenly  our  way  was  barred  by  a  vast 
piece  of  ice,  flat-surfaced  like  a  marble  floor. 
In  two  seconds,  our  canoe  was  hauled  on  it ; 
and  we  halted  to  contemplate  the  scene.  It 
was    fairy-like. 

The  steep  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
unrolled  right  and  left  their  snowy  tapering 
heights,  which  the  roofs,  the  trees,  the  cam- 
paniles   and    the    church    steeples   seemed   to 

i66 


J  It  I 


1.:^ 


<Sl, 


ula 

the   crew 


1 1  voyafjc. 
sparklinfT 
's  of  the 
■y  glitter 
2s.  One 
<v  ma^jio 
J  cressets 
s    of    the 

dch'ghtful 

y  a  vast 
ble  floor. 
;d  on  it ; 
cene.     It 

^.awrence 
tapering 
he   cam- 
em  ed    to 


The  Plmntom  Horn! 

perforate  with   dim   or    kmiinous    points,   like 

a   frmge   of  silver  embroidery. 

Around  us.  on  the    br.ast   of  the   gigantic 

nver,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  white 
•surfaces  appeared  in  a  soft  diffused  li.rht 
broken  here  and  there  by  furrows,  rents' 
crevices,  pools,  lakes  of  deep  water,  all 
spangled  with  reflections  int.  .sifying  its 
inky     darkness. 

And  all  this  in  an  atmosphere  of  bitin- 
cold,  but  the  strange  calmness  of  which 
penetrated  the  soul  with  an  extraordinary 
imj>ression    of  serenity. 

F.  •      some      time      the     church     bells     of 
Quebec     had     been     mingling     their     clangor 
u>th    the    resounding    peals     from    the    other 
shore.       Unconsci(Jusly    overwhelmed     by    the 
grandeur    of    the    spectacle,    we    instinctively 
pressed    against   each   other,   listening    to    the 
■solemn     voices     of    the    sacred     bronzes      ex- 
changing   from    height   to  height  their   call   to 
prayer,  through   that  wondrous  night-sublime 
anniversary   of    the   great    event. 

"Ave     Maria!"     cried     out     old      Baron, 

taking    off    Ju's    I-"'--!,-.,    r,,.. 

fc>  111.1    i,v.a\y    lur    cap. 

.67 


l-l' 


»!' 


""*  ""BUI  "*«■ 


'f   |) 


13   if 


Cliri^stmus  in  Fioncli  Caimdu 

And  all  the  .sturdy  canoe-mcn  uncovered 
their  heads,  while  their  tawny  faces  glowed 
under   the    starry    splendors    of  the    ni^dit. 

Impossible  to  picture  the  inajest)-  of  the 
scene  ! 

"Nothinj,'  could  be  more  beautiful!"  ex- 
claimed, with  one  voice,  my  two  friends 
from    Florida. 

"And  thank  God,  we  have  not  seen  the 
Phantom  Head,"  uttered  Nazaire  Jodoin, 
setting    his    foot    on    the   batture   of    Quebec. 

•  »  •  • 

Several  years  later,  passing  along  the  foot 
of  the  cliff  which  overhangs  the  cove  where 
like  a  bee-hive,  hums  the  great  ship-yard,  I 
noticed  the  remains  of  an  old  canoe,  on  the 
shattered  bow  of  which  a  tattered  piece  of 
tin  bore  the  four  letters  "  TMAS,"  half 
washed    out   by   time   and    weather. 

Was  it  the  skeleton  of  the  old  Merry 
Christmas  ? 


t 


l 


ida 

uncovered 
:.s    glowed 
iiif,'ht. 
t)-   of  the 

full"    cx- 
j     friends 

seen    the 

Jodoin, 

Quebec. 

« 

the  foot 
/e  where, 
3-yard,   I 

;,  on  the 
piece  of 
>S,"    half 

J    Merry 


iOyisE 


J  FEW  jears  ago.  some  peculiar 
circumstances  had  led  to  Nicolet 
—a  pleasant  little  tou-n  situated 
on  the  banks  of  the  Nicolet  nver— a  famih-  of 
five  persons,  neither  rich  nor  poor,  of  neither 
humble  nor  brilliant  condition,  but  in  whose 
home   the  angel  of  happiness  had  always  had 

i6() 


'.(II 
i 

'<  nil 


A 


l 


m 


I 


■,>l9^>K-tff4f^„^^^ 


."^'^.''^'Vj^ni.jHK 


Christinas  in  French  Canada 

hh  corner  at  the  hearth  and  his  place  at  the 
table. 

At  the  time  of  my  story,  the  youngest  of 
the  three  children-a  delicate  fair-haired  little 
ma.d,  with  dark  eyes-was  just  four  years 
old;  but  her  pretty  face  and  her  winning 
ways  had  already  made  her  friends  with  the 
whole   neighborhood. 

Most  of  the  time  she  spoke  of  herself  in 
the  third  person,  and  this  peculiarity  con- 
tributed to  make  her  name  of  Louise-which 
she  pronounced  <9/.m-_famiHar  to  every  one 
from  old  Boivert's  r^rry  to  the  Bishop's' 
Palace. 

When     she     leaned     over     the    railing     of 
the    balcony,   or   when,  light    as    a    lark,    she 
wandered    in    the    alleys    of    the   garden,   her 
provoking     little     head     emerging     here     and 
there    among    the     rose     bushes    and    honey- 
suckles, the  old  priests  who  passed  by  on  their 
way  to   the  Bishop's,  the  students  who  turned 
the   corner   of  the  college  avenue,  the  gentle- 
men and  the  ladies  who  followed  the  sidewalk 
of  the   main   street,   never   failed    to   say: 
"  Bonjoui;   Louise  !  " 
170 


1     l\ 


PS  iisij  J!'-T  rrniTiT  ri  JTii 


sida 

ace  at  the 

3ungest  of 
lired  little 
bur   years 
'   winning 
with  tliQ 

lerself  in 
rity  con- 
e — which 
lery  one, 
Bishop's 

ih'ng     of 
ark,    she 
:len,   lier 
■re     and 
honey- 
on  their 
>  turned 
gentle- 
idewalk 
ly: 


Ouise 

To  which  a  fresh  and  laughing  baby  voice 
invariably   answered: 
"  Bofisour  !  " 
The     carters     and      the     lumbermen     who 

work     sm.led    to    her    with    a    pleasant    word 
y^ofisoir,    mamzclle  Louise!" 
And   the   little   one  answered   in   her  dear 
nnging   voice,   like   a   bird's   call  : 
"  Bonsoir,    monsieur  !  " 

.  ^^'"  '^'  -^^^PP-d  the  coachmen  with  a 
•s.gn  of  her  dimpled  finger,  and  when  they 
came    nearer   to   ask   what   she   wanted  • 

"A   drive!"   she   whispered,   with   a  whole 
regnnent    of    l.^king    .smiles    nestled    at    the 
corners   of  her   eyes   and    mouth. 
Sometimes   they   would   object: 
"I   am   in    a   hurry,    Mamzelle    Louise" 
But  then,  she  would   put  the  index  of  her 
n^ht  hand  on  the  index  of  her  left,  and  with 
an    accent   of  irresistible   coaxing: 

"  A  I't-  •  .  lit.  .  .  little  one ! "  she  would 
pray,  varyn.g  her  gentle  intonations  in  the 
most   exquisite    manner. 

That   was   all  ;   the   coachman   would    stop, 
•7' 


W 


(■ 


i 


i 


Cliiistmas  in  Froiicli  Canada 

look    at    luT   a    moment,  and    then  yidclin-  to 
a   fit   of  snily    kindness,    would    t;rumble: 

"What  a  child!      Impossible    to    refuse  her 
anythino-.'' 

And  seizinij  the  h'ttle  one  in  his  two 
•sturdy  hands,  he  would  place  her  on  the 
seat  of  l,i-  vehicle,  jump  to  her  side,  give 
a  craciv  of  his  whip,  and  start  at  random, 
while  the  child  shook  her  fair  curls  in  thJ 
wind,  and  her  peals  of  laughter  rang  in  the 
ears  of  the  passers-by,  Avho  looked  at  her 
with   a   smile. 

In    short,    Louise   was    a    favorite. 
Did    she    love    an>one    in    return  ? 
Did    she    love    anyone?     Why,    she    loved 
everybo<ly.     Oh,   yes!     But,   after    her    father, 
mother,  brother  and  sister,  the  one  she  loved 
the    best    was    her   dog. 

hor  Mademoiselle  Louise  had  a  dog,  a 
fine  French  a';///"'''/,  very  queer  in  his  heavy 
fleece,  nhich  completely  covered  his  eyes,  a 
good  docrgy  who  had  becii  named  Cor/uw/, 
on  account  of  his  being  a  jet  black.  And, 
on  his  part,  the  dog  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
the    child,    and    never    left    her  the  breadth   of 

•7^ 


lula 

/ieldinsr  to 
inble : 
refuse  her 

Ill's  two 
I'  on  the 
side,    give 

random, 
Is  in  the 
ig  in  the 
I    at    Iier 


le  loved 
r  father, 
he  loved 

do£T,  a 
s  heavy 
ej'cs,  a 
Corbeau, 
:.  And, 
Fmcy  to 
adth   of 


Guise 

Ik's  sole,  if  this  expression   be  permitted   when 
talkinjj    of  dogs. 

If  one  tiling  more  than  another  had  the 
power  to  throw  Louise  into  fits  of  mirth,  it 
was  that  old  popular  ballad,  which  her  father 
used   to  sing  to    her,   and    which    began    thus: 

//  I'lail  ,11!  p,iit  homiiic 
Qui  s\ip/<,-lail  (.iii/Ztii, 

Cdia/'i  ! 
II  sen  Jul  a  la  c/iasxc, 
■  I  Ai  i/iiissc  II//.V  /<i-ii///.v, 
I'ili,   iurabi:      7\>lo,  airaho  ! 

"Toto  Corbeau!"  exclaimed    the  little  one. 
And    her    ringing   laughter  sparklec'    like  a 
piece   of  fireworks. 

The  first  time  she  was  taken  to  confession, 
her    father   said    to    her : 

"You  will  pray  for  me,  won't  you,  Louise." 

"Oh!    yes,    papa."'   she   answered. 

And    when,   on    her  return,  she   was  asked 
iT  she    had    remembered    her    promise: 

"Ves,    papa,"    she    said,    "Ouise    told    two 
big   sins    for   )-ou  ;    there ! " 

As    the  winter    feasts   drew   near,  the  papa 
had    gone    to    M.Mitreal    for   a  short   trip.      He 

'73 


i 


i-nii-ftiMMiii 


Christmas  in  French  Cana.hi 

returned  ho.e  on  the  very  ..y  before  Christ- 

J    -"Jrf    not  open,    having,    to     the     great 
disappointment  of    the    I,>Ho    ^  . 
n^f-^i      I          ..                          ^    ^"^'''    unfortu- 
nately  lost   the  k-ey   on    his    wa^- 

Of  the   contents   of  the    m^.terious  trunk 
he   had    not   the   shghtest   recollection 

prestnts'"a'7''    '"    ^"""    ""^    '^'    ^'-'^^--^ 
presents,   as,   for    one    reason    or    another,   he 

IZ  'T    ^'  '^^  --S  of  Montreal    closed 

bee  '    t    T  ""^    "°''^   •^""">'"^'^^'   '-   ^-^' 
Been  .short  of  money. 

Under  such  eondition,,,  l,„„  could  he  have 
pureha.,ed    anything   at  all  ?     „  „,.,  ^j, 

=.ppo,nth,g   indeed  ;   bnt  everyone  k„„„..,  ,ha 
on    Christmas    Eve    Santa    Claus    makes    his 
round    witii    his    basket    full     „f 
good   children.  '   """"'^   '"' 

JVVell.   now,   my  honeys,"  said    the   father, 
P"t    your    shoes    in     the    (ire-pkace,    ha„^,    up 
your  s.ock„,,,s  at  ,l,e   foot  of  your  beds       ' 
your  prayers,  and_c,uick,  under  the  bl„„ke„l 
To-morrow   morning   we    shall    see   what    the 
ttle  ones    fr.end    will    have   brought   to  you. 

If  you   sleep  wen,  you    may  be   sure   that   he 
wont  forget     you." 

'74 


Ouiso 

for  r«  'rV'",'  "■""■'  '""''  "^  eiven  ,o  him 
for  that_ha<l  .  |.„|  „f  „„„^   ^^,_.^|_   ^_^^^^ 

a  certain  a,r  of  incredulity  ;   the   eldest   sister 

began    to    dance,  clapping    her    hands,   utter- 

HIS    bursts     of    laughter     anri     i       i 

cries    of   joy.  ^°"^     "''^ing 

Sudcienly  she  stepped,  and  had  a  moment 
ofsenous  thought.  Then.  hTtin,.  up  her  in- 
qms.fve    eyes,    she    said    to    her    father: 

"Will  Santa  Claus  also  brin,.  something 
t^^    the    httle   Jesus    in    the    church  ? » 

"No.    my   child." 

"Why    not?" 

■•  Because  the  little  Jesus  needs  nothing  ; 
ail    things   belong  to  him." 

"V-:',  IMpa.  he  needs  .something;  he  i, 
poor;  Ouise  saw  him  to-day.  He  has  no 
c  othes  ;  he  must  feel  cold.  cold.  The  poor 
baby    will    cry." 

And  tte  little  one.  almost  moved  to  tears 
put  her  finger  „.  her  trembling  lips,  her 
breast    quivering   li,e    that   of  a    bird   seized 

by   a    feather   of  its    win- 

But   childish   emotion.^  pa.s.s    quickly;    the 
'75 


I, 


M 


■''«m<mmmm^'. 


"'^**w*>Wiiia 


ClirisliMMS    ill    hcMcli    ('.■||i;i(l;|, 

R"-.l  Mioh,     ,,,,,,inj.     ,,n.l     tl.r    p,vpay,a\ou     (,„■ 
rest    ma.lr   a    li.ippy    (li\cisi(.ii. 

'riin-(<     no,.,l     S(.UH(lill^r     l^issi-s     t,,     ,,;,|,,.,,     tlllVC 

tondor  luins  to  uKimina.  ami  (ui  inimiu-s  later, 
ihrcv  pairs  of  fiiir  m-w  sli.n-s  lay  ,,n  the 
stones  ,.(■  tlu>  lu-arlli.  an.!  tinv.-  .rrntl.>  heads. 
'"■"■'■  and  dark,  sank  int..  Umv  uhiu-  |,i||o\vs, 
in  tiK-  sha.lou-  ..f  tin-  nnlains  ra.vss.-d  by 
tlu-    trcniMin.;    n|i,„„HMs    ,,C   ilu>    ni-lit    l.nn|.. 

As     ,)no     may     -ncss,     (lu-     key     of      tlu> 
trunk   w.is    cMsily  Cnin.k      Aii.l    prr  -itts   of   all 
kinds    s.)..n    craninu-d    tlu-    sIkh-s    in     tli(>    (lic- 
PI.HV  ;     a     bin-    d.,11     -..r-cnisly    dvcssal     was 
l.ii.l    a.n.ss    those   of    L.,ui,se ;    the  little  stoek- 
in.i;s    h.ni-in-    .,t    the     lo.,t    of    the    beds    were 
'"'lle.l     up    with     landies    and     pretty    -^ifi^     |,y 
tlie   .lisereet    h.nul   of  the   mamma  ;   and   when, 
before     retirin-      the     papa     threw    a     l„vin^' 
.q:kince    thr.n.oh    the    halC-,.pene.l    ,!„<„■    hehin.l 
"'licli     reste.l     I,is     treasures,    he     faneie.i     !,e 
could    see    a    swarm     of    th.)se    winged     spirits 
called    dreams    lluttcrin-   around    the    brow    of 
liis    darlin-  pet.  murmurinnr   to  her   ears    s.,me 
of  the  divine  secrets  which,  th.u  nioju   especi- 
'illy,  the  an-cls   of   Heaven  exchange  between 

^7*4 


ilv 


id.'i 

atidii     Idi 

ipa,   three 
itt-s  later, 

on  the 
le  heads, 
•  pillows, 
essed  by 
t    lain|). 

of  (he 
ts  of  .all 
th(>  iuc- 
sed  was 
le  st()cl<- 
xis  were 
^ifts  In- 
Ill   when, 

lovint^ 

hehiiid 
:ied      lie 

spirits 

[ivow    of 

"s    some 

cspcci- 

bctuccn 


Oiii 


.S(! 


th 


,  ';";7.'- "'  ""■  •"' ' ".^  ..f  .1,,*  ,.„., 

Iial     (elidty. 

„,,■''"'; ■""■-- I— I  ,i„.  ,1,,.,,,,. 

'  ,'""V"  ^ ""  ""■ « ■■-. 

'■'■'■ ".'"■•  »■"'  '"  *'-v.  I.,„,,l  ,,,  ,„' 

"■'';";",' '  '■'■  ""■  i-ii.  ci,a,„i„„  .I,,,,-,. 

,:",''"■ ";'  «'""""■'■■ "'' ",.  „,„,  ,,„.,, 

"\  "•''«■"■■''  "!■  '■)■  i"yn.i  .xHa,,,.,,;,,,,, 

ll"lll     tin-     |„„,,.     ^1,,,,.,,  'I' 

„'"     ',"■ ' -^      ""■      l'""M--     >V.,s     „„      f„,„ 

Kall.,T,.,l    i„    „„„   ^,,„„|, 

,,,"""'"''■■■■•■  '-^  ""■""'••'•  '-?'asl<,.,|    „,„ 

"■;■     '"»"■"'•'    ""■•    '»..   cl.leM    cl,il,i,x-„.     "Is 

""I    I.oiiise    ii|)   3'ct?" 

■■VVIH.-1-,-     is     si,,.,     ,1,^.,,,.. 

If""' ,':; ■" ""»»"-!  'Lc  liuio  ,„„s. 

Louise ! 

"Louise!  " 


search. 


•77 


l^ 


(I 


:?Hesa»«>«~«^., 


1^       f 


•} 


Cliristmas  in  French  Cmicada 

"Where   is    the    dog?"    asked    the    father 
anxiously. 

"  Corbeau  ! " 

"  Corbeau  ! " 

"  Corbeau  ! " 

No   answer,   not   even    a   growl. 

The   p(,or   father  gave   a   cry   of  alarm  • 

"The  dog  is  not  here!  the  child  is  gone! 
Good    Heavens,   where   is   she  ? " 

And  almost  crazy,  he  rushed  out  bare- 
headed, without  even  noticing  that  the  door 
bolt   was   drawn. 

A  thin  coat  of  snow  had  fallen  during 
the  night;  footprints  were  visible  crossing, 
the  front  garden  and  leading  towards  the 
cathedral.  One  could  easily  detect  the  tracks 
of  two  little  feet  together  with  that  kind  of 
rosette,  in  the  shape  of  a  five-leafed  clover 
which   the  foot  of  a  dog  imprints. 

This  somewhat  reassured  the  anxious 
father,  who  continued  his  run  in  the  direction 
indicated    by   the   traces. 

He  had  not  gone  a  hundred  paces  when 
he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  Bishop,  an  old 
college  companion,   who  came  to  him  holding 


the    father 


f"  alarm  : 
cl  is  gone! 

out    bare- 
the   door 


V\ 


-n  during 
crossinp- 

-ards    the 

he  tracks 
kind    of 

d    clover. 


.  m 


anxious 
direction 


es   when 

,  an  old 

holding- 


•^  hriffg  you  hack  „  litti,  saiui 


ill 


*f™B|lli 


CI 


"  Wlu 
anxious  I) 
"  Corl 
"  Corl 
"  Cor 
No  .- 
The 
"  Th( 
Good    I 
And 
headed,  uithi 
bolt   wa 
A   tl 
the    nig 
the    fro 
cathedn 
of  two 
rosette, 
which   t 
Thu 
father,  i 
indicate 
He 
he  stoo 
coilej;e 


'i      paces     vvli;  M 

",  an  old 


'S     wilt' I 

an   olfi 


II 


i< 


^1 


ssasitmmmm 


'/I 


Guise 

by  the  nVht  haiul  the  h'ttle  maid,  whose  left 
disappeared  among  the  long  and  shaggy  hairs 
of  the  griffon. 

"  I  bring  back  to  you    a    h'ttle   saint,"   said 
the  Bishop. 

And   handing   to   his  friend  a  small  parcel 
he    held    under   his   arm : 

"With   a  restitution,"  added   he,  smiling. 

The  father  was  soon  acquainted  with  what 
had   happened. 

It  was  dark  yet,  and  the  lamps,  lighted 
since  five  o'clock  at  the  Bishop's  Palace,  had 
not  yet  jielded  before  the  morning  dawn 
when  the  door  bell   was  heard. 

It  was  old  Thcrese,  the  gardener,  who 
answered  the  call. 

A  type  worth  picturi,ii,r,  this  same  Tht:-- 
rese. 

Imagine  an  old  crone,  who  worked  hard, 
grumbling  from  morning  till  night,  smoked 
like  a  locomotive,  and  who,  satisfied  or  dis- 
satisfied, had  only  one  energetic  expression 
to  show  torth  her  joy  or  discontent :  "  Crt< 
million  !  " 

If  you  gave  her  a  few  cents,  some  tobacco, 
'79 


1 


m 


i 


il 


M 


.x^--, 


'h!:, 


I      p. 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

some    old    clothes,   or   even   a   glass   of  wfne 
she   never  failed  to  say: 

"Thank  you,  ere  million!  that's  exactly 
what's  good  for  me." 

If  the  little  brats  of  the  neighbourhood 
entered  her  garden,  walked  on  her  flower- 
beds  or   plundered    her   rose-bushes: 

"Cre  million!"  she  said:  "hold  on  a  bit 
you  scoundrels  ;  I'll  hang  you  by  the  ears  on 
the   handle   of  the  door." 

The  children,  who  knew  the  value  of  her 
threats,  were  not  frightened  more  than  was 
necessary-and  had  given  her  the  surname  of 
MdUon,  to  which  she  seemed  to  have  no 
objection. 

It  was  she  who  went  to  the  door. 

''Bonaour,Miyonr  said  a  little  voice  from 
out   the  dark. 

Therese  drew  near:  it  was  Louise  with 
h^"-  dog  and  a  little  parcel  she  held  with 
outstretched  arms  as  something  precious  and 
sacred. 

"Why,  is  it  you,  puceron?"  cried  the  old 
•"aid;  "what  arc  you  about  at  such  an 
hour  ?  " 

I  So 


tii.iitMi»i 


HJaKiSJtiJ 


ada 

3   of  wine, 

s   exactly 

ibourhood 
-V    flower- 
on  a  bit, 
e  ears  on 

Je  of  her 
than  was 
rname  of 
have    no 


lice  from 


ise 

with 

Id 

with 

ous 

and 

the 

old 

uch 

an 

Ouise 

"  Want  to  see  Monsieur  Monscigncurr 

"  Monseigneur  !  Monseigneur  !  Crc  milhon  ' 
he  has  something  better  to  do  than  listen  to 
your  nonsense,  Monseigneur.  Come  in  and 
warm  yourself.     Did  you  ever  see  the  like  ?  " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  a  low  paternal  voice, 
well   known  to  the  little  girl. 

And  the  good  Bishop  appeared  in  the 
opening  of  the  ante-chamber. 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  me." 

"  Who  you  ?  " 
"  Ouise  ! " 

"Louise!  upon    my   word!   so    it  is.     Who 
is   with   you  ? " 
"  Corbeau." 

"Does  your  father  know?" 
"Is   asleep." 

"And   what   are  you   here   for?" 
"Ouise   brings  a  dress  for  the  little  Jesus" 
"You  bring  a  dress  for  the  little  Jesus?" 
"Yes;    Ouise   saw   him   yesterday;  has    no 
dress.     Feels   cold,    cold." 

"  But  where  did  you  get  that  dress  ?  " 
And  the  child  told,  in  her   baby  language 
i8i  '^ 


M 


''I 


mi 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

with  hesitation  and  stammering  efforts  at  the 
long  words,  how  she  ],ad  put  her  shoes  in  the 
fire-place  before  going  to  bed  ;  how  Santa 
Clans  had  come  during  the  night  and  brought 
her  a  big  doll  with  a  nice  new  dress ;  how 
-she  had  then  thought  of  the  Infant-Jesus  all 
alone  in  his  n^anger  in  the  big  cold  church  ; 
and,  at  last,  how  she  had  taken  off  the  doll's 
dress  to  bring  it  to  the  poor  little  Jesus. 

The   Bishop   listened   with   emotion. 

"^  But   now  your  doll    is    going   to   be    cold 
too,"   said    he. 

"Oh!  no,  she's  wrapped  up  in  Guise's  shawl." 
"Well,  then,  come  away!"  said  the  good 
prelate,  stealthily  passing  the  end  of  his  fingc.- 
in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  "  I  shall  take  you 
back  to  your  papa ;  you  will  dress  up  your 
doll  again ;  and,  as  to  the  little  Jesus,  don't 
be  anxious  about  him,  I  shall  have  his  manger 
warmed  so  that  he  will  be  quite  comfortable  " 
.      "  Surely  ?  " 

'•  Surely !     You    will    see    to    it,  won't   you 
Therese  ?  " 

Thcr^se    \\as    wiping    her    eyes    with    the 
corner   of  her   apron. 

182 


Ouise 

"  Cre  million  !  my  lord,"  she  said,  "  I'm 
ready  to  heat  him   until  he  melts." 

"  All  right,  then  ;  and  now,  Louise,  here 
is  a  nice  picture  for  you  ;  it  is  the  picture  of 
the   little  Jesus   himself." 

"Thank   you.    Monsieur    Monseigneur." 

"You  like  it?" 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  have  you  got  another  one  ?  " 

"  You  want  two  ?  what  for  ?  " 

"  Ouise  wants  one  for  her  Indian." 

"What    Indian?" 

'■ood    Indian    brought  Oui.se   to   mamma, 
when   Ouise  lit—  lit—  little." 

The  Bishop  and  old  Thcre.se  had  a  good 
laugh,  and  the  Indian  was  made  happy  too.* 

It  is  a  received  traditi.m  v,i,h  our  little  ones  that  they  are 
bror.Rht  to  their  p.ironts  by  .n  "good  Indian,"  which  theory  is  at 
least  as  elTective  as  that  of  the  :abbage  Leaf. 


■  di 


•83 


I 


^«safaas£i--,.-. 


j|HE    narrator   was  a    well- 
•^     known  Montrealer. 

I  was  spending  the 
winter  in  New  Orleans, 
■V  said  he,  in  company  with 
l^  a  countryman  of  ours, 
whom  I  shall  call  Al- 
Phonse,  if  you  permit  me:  the  most  amiable 
of  comrades,  the  most  loyal  of  friends,   but  at 

the  same  time  the  greatest  fatalist  in  Creation 
So  complete  a  fatalist  that,  one  day,   in  the 
open    -street,    he    almost    fell    into    my    arms 
exclaimmg  joyfully : 

iust^^t   'T  '"''^""'  '°"^"^"'^^^  --•  ^  have 
JUi't  lost  a  five  dollar  bill " 

^ee   in    thi.    any   serious   subject    of 
184 


''-■■MMi..:^:-y      -i: 


well- 


ive 


Tlio  Horseshoe 


fel.-cha.i„„    he  was  executing  a  .na^uAa  ,„ep 
"   the   s,de.alk   .o  .,,0  g.ea.   a„,a.e„,c„t  Jf 

tnc  passers-by. 

a  slaiT  TT''"'  '"  '"'   --•*"'='"y   broken 

a   small    Jookinsf  fjlass    -nifl    i. 

da,..     The    loss    of   the   five  dollars   had 
averted    the    .hrca.e„h,g    fatal,,,,    hence 
exuberance  of  his  joy. 

A    black   cat,  in   particular,  had  the  effect 
of  exasperating   him   .0   madness.     „e  would 

"ave  walked  miles  to  avoid  the  sight  or::' 

It  was  the  first  winter   I   h^rt 
u,    ,  „  ^"^   '   ^^^   ever  passed 

a   so  , hern     n„ate,  and   knowing  nothing 
n   the  shape   of    December    temperature   bu^ 

h     snow  storms  of  Quebec  and  the  free.i„, 
orth    wn,ds   of  Chicago,   I   lived    in   ecs  ,cv 
;;-V^  indicated    with   sunshine  and';::.' 

As  for  my  friend,  he  was  a  jolly    fellow 
eagerly  feasting  upon  the  sweet  fruit 'of  h^: 
'«s    youth  ,.    and,   free    from    al,    annova, "e 
anx,et,es   and    regrets    of   any    kind,   we   Id 

hr:re'::r"'^-----cou;' 

'85 


I: 


fll 


€1 


I        ''  i 


li  f' 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Our  mornings  were  devoted  to  work  ;  but 
the  afternoons  ....  but  the  evenings  .... 
all  left  to  our  fancies! 

Alphonse   was   connected    with  a  large  firm, 

exporters   of  Louisiana   produce ;  and  "on    the 

same    floor    as    the    offices,    but   in    rear,   and 

separated  from    them    by   a   large   and   almost 

empty    hall,    which    served    occasionally   as   a 

store    room    for   samples,   he   had    fitted   up   a 

very    pretty    suite    of   apartments    which    we 

shared    like   two   brothers. 

The  partition  walls  which  separated  us 
from  the  offices  weie  glass-framed  from  the 
dado  to  the  ceiling;  so  that  from  our  bed- 
room—it was  this  apartment  especially  that 
we  amicably  shared— we  could  see  more  or 
less  what  was  going  on  in  the  front  rooms, 
through   which  was  our  only  exit. 

A  narrow  ante-chamber  put  us  in  com- 
munication with  the  wareroom. 

Christmas  drew  near  ....  New  Year's 
also,  naturally  ;  and  we  looked  forward  to  all 
sorts  of  good  times,  of  joyous  parties  with 
pleasant   acquaintances. 

One   evening,  however,  on   returning  home 
186 


1  I II 

i  I  ii 


it 


Ik- 


but 


com- 


The  Horseshoe 

after  a  night  passed  at  a  planters  of  the  neigh- 

A  dark  colored  cat.  according  to  his  story, 
had    entered    our   rooms    th^f    ^       ■ 
Inhr.  ,j  mornmcr;    and 

John,  our  old  servant,  who  was,  by  the  way 
nearly  as  dark  as  the  intruder,  aided  by  all' 
available  hands,  had  succeeded  in  ridding  the 

house  of  this  new  guest,  but  only  after  endless 
difficulties. 

For    two    long    days,    my    fnend    seemed 
worried   and  strangely  preoccupied 

This    brilliant    talker,   always    ready   for  a 
hearty  laugh,  was  turning   taciturn. 

The  black  cat  might  have  annoyed  him 
no  doubt;  but  to  have  disturbed  him  to  such 
an  extent  was  beyond  all  reasonable  sup- 
position.  '^ 

"Look    here,"   said    I.   on    Christmas    Eve 

whue  he    was    searching   every    corner    of   the' 

roc^    .n    a    nervous    and     impatient     manner 

what   ,s  the  matter  with  you,  anyhow .? "         ' 

"The    matter    with     me,"    said     he.    in    a 

furious   tone,  "  the   matter   with   me   is   that    I 

have  been  robbed.—that's  all  !  " 

.87 


Ji 


m 


(}! 


V      » 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 
"  Robbed  ! " 

"Yes,   robbed!   and    the    worst    of    ft    is" 
added    he.    letting   his   ar.s   fa„    i„   ,,j,,,.,;^ 

Jhe  worst  of  ,t  is  that    I   a,n    afraid    to   sus- 

"Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  John.  Do  you  understand  ?  To 
suspect  some  one  hitherto  considered  honest. 
D.schargmgr  a  poor  fellow,  dishonouring  an  old 

servant,  with  the  risk  of  ounishing  an  innocent 
n^an.  J    .vouldn't   do   that   for   ten    times 

what  I  have  lost     And  still  .  .  .  .  " 

"But    what    is    it   you    have    lost?" 

"My   pocket-book." 

"  With   money   in   it  ? " 

"  With   two   bills   of  five   hundred   each " 
No!" 

"Ves,     my     friend;     I     had     drawn     that 
money  from   the  bank  to  conclude  a  bargain 
J"    the    evening,   with    an    old    Creole.      You' 
know   that    most    of   those   old    Creoles    won't 
hear    of    checks  ;     scarcely    will    they    accept 
^reen-backs.      Now,   the    man    having    missed 
his    appointment,   the   two    bills    remained    in 
my  pocket-book.     It  was  there,  in  the  inside 

188 


■arte     f(  % ',' 


mfWriff  nwaafuiiti 


The  Horseshoe 


pocket  of  ,ny  vvafstcoat  on  the  back  .f  that 
cha-r,  when  I  turned  in  the  night  before  last  • 
-I    now  it   is   gone.     Oh  I   that   cursed    black 

^_^_^_;'And   yon    have    searched    everywhere   for 

"  I    have   turned   everything  inside    out 

But  no  more  of  this,"  he  added,  seizing 'rnJ 
by  the  arn.  and  turning  my  head  towards  the 
httle  fancy  stove  which  stood  in  the  centre  of 

our  bedroom;   "it  shall  be  the  last  time  such 
a   stup,d   thmg   will   happen    to    me" 

"What   is   that?" 

"A  horseshoe,  which   I  have  just  found  on 
the   street.     I    can   defy   bad    luck    now  " 

And   sure   enough,    I    saw  the  gleam   of  a 
half-worn   and  polished  horseshoe  balanced  on 
the   central    ornament   of  the   little  heater 
"And   you     believe.  .  .  ?"    .^i,^    j    ^^,j^,^    ^ 

"Ves.    I     believe!"    he     interrupted    with 
conv.^.on.      -.you   shall   see    for   yourself" 

Well  then,  let  us  get  to  dinner;  we 
shall  dnnk  the  health  of  the  wizard  who  is 
to   bnng   back   the  star  of  good  luck  to  our 

1 89 


ij 


ih 


I 


^^^r.^^f' 


■''»•*'%»*»«*; 


''""'V'mmmmi, 


Chn-stm,is  i„   n-ench  Oaimda 

pock-et-book-  ! " 

"Who  knows?  At  all  events.  let  us 
^J'"e ;  we  shall  sup  after  midnight  mass.  I 
have  ordered  so.ne  ,.ood  n-o,„^:,„,„,  at 
Victors    to    remfnd     us    of   our    home  " 

"A    L^ood    idea!    but    is    midnight   mass   of 
great    imjjortancc    to  y  ,u  ?  " 

"Of    course.      The    artists    of   the    Opera 
are^  ,^oing   to   sing  at  the  Jesuits',  you  know." 
The.i  you    shall   go   alone,  for  I  have   an 
appomtment    for   high    mass   to-morrow." 

"And    what   about   the   cro./u;\r„,/,,  ^  „ 
^^^^  "Vou'll    take   some   home   with  you.  that's 

And    thus    it    happened    that   on   the    sqth 
of    December,    i8;o,    by   one    o'clock    in    the 
morning.    I    was   sleeping    alone-our    servant 
havmg  his  lodging  elsewhere-in  our  bachelor 
quarters    of    Po.dras    street,    in    the    city    of 
New    Orleans,    while,    under    the    illuminated 
vaults   of  the   churches,    resounded    the  Joyful 
carols   of  that    mysterious  Christmas    night  so 
dear   to   all    Christian    hearts. 
Suddenly,    I    awoke. 
190 


"i-iisran-;  -~^^^zTj2m$»mfm 


your 


so 


The  iroivseshoo 

A  noise  was  heard  in  the  direction    of  the 
ortices. 

"Here   is    Alphonse   comin,.    in,"  said   I  to 
-yself;  -  I  should  have  left  the  ,as  h.hted." 

Now.   for   some  weeks   past,  a  strange  ex- 
citement  had    reigned    in    New   Orleans 

IWie  talked  of  nothing  else    but  burglars 
and  burglaries.  ^ 

Every  morning,  the  newspapers  contained 
accounts  of  broken  doors,  of  forced  drawers 
ol    plundered  safes. 

The  police  were  of  no  avail.  The  bold 
tlHcves  set  watchmen  and  detectives  at 
defiance  with  e.vtraordinary  skill  and  un- 
heard   of   audacity. 

While   thev^   were    apparently   cornered    at 
one  pomt,  they  operated  in   another  direction 
and   generally   with   successful    result. 

The    plundering    of    iron    safes    was    their 
Pnncpal      specialty,     and     when      the      same 
-s.sted      picklocks     and     other      instruments 
they      used      gun-cotton,      nitro-ghcerine      or 
any    other   kind    of   explosive    to   break    open 
hinges   and   safety   locks 

JlT"  "'°  '''  "•^'  ---"'^  "p- 

191 


n 


I 


V     ' 


C'liiistnias  in  Froncli  Canada 

N"u-.  to  return  to  my  narrative:  at  tl,e 
very  nio.ncnt  uhen  I  uas  ,nal<in.  the  remark 
tha  r  ouK^ht  to  have  left  the  gas  h'^^htecl  ,o 
k'mde  my  companion.  [  perceived,  on  turning 
'ny  head,  a  faint  and  intermittent  reflection 
Play.n,r  on   the  glass  partition   of  our   room 

"i5o    much    the    better."    thought    I-    "he 
has   a   h'ght." 

I  waited. 

No  footsteps— complete  silence. 

"What  is  he  about?"  I  muttered.  l<neeling 
on  my  bed  to  ,ook  in  the  direction  of  ti.e 
onfices. 

"  VVh^^  he  is  not  alone  !  "  sairi   I.  somewhat 

surpnsed;.- and  what  has  he  got  to  do  at  the 
cashiers  office?  " 

At   the  same  moment,  the  hght  of  a  dark 

lantern  flashed  across  my  face,  and  I  saw  two 

shadows   bending  over  one  of  the  safes  of  tho 

estabbshment ;     I    even    heard   the    clicking   .^( 

the  safety  knob. 

A    thought,  rapid    as   a    flash   of  lightning 
made  me  shiver  from   head   to  foot. 
No  doubt,  they  were  burglars. 
What  was  going  to  happen? 

J  93 


t 


lada 

vo:  at  the 
he  remark 
li^^htecl  to 
>"  turnin^r 
reflection 
Lir  room. 
■    f;    "he 


Tho  Horseshoe 


kneeling 
11   of  the 

omewhat 
lu  at  the 

r  a  dark 
saw  two 
>  of  the 
:kin<4    ^)f 

^htnnijT, 


Would    the   thieves    be   satisfied    with    the 
plundern.g  of  the  offices? 

Would  they  venture  in  my  direction  ? 
And  then  .... 

How    to   escape?  how  to   ,Mve   an    alarm? 
how  defend   myself?     ,    .,  „  ,•„   ,  ,,,,^,, 
-thout  a   weapon,    vilhoni  .>ou  a  stick. 

I  vvas  even  una'^lc  to  d-. .ss.  for  fear  the 
s-^htest  noise  might  ,.  t.a..  the  attention  of 
tlic  ruffiatis,  and  reveal  my  presence 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  folly  to  stay  in 
bed.  ^ 

A  thonght  came  to  me :  the  horseshoe  ' 
And  here  I  am  creeping  out  of  my  sheets 
as  cautiously  as  possible;  and  stealthily 
qu.etly,  slowly.  I  ^ade  my  way  towards  the' 
-stove  where  I  saw.  glittering  vaguely  in  the 
pale  U^ht  of  the  night,  the  only  weapon  a 
mere  hazard  had  left  to  my  disposal. 

A    mome.it     later     I    stood    in    the    .-te 
cl^amber,    half    hidden    behind    the    frame    of 
the  door  opening  on  the  back  store,  in   night 
sown,     with     chattering     teeth     and     shaking 
l.mbs,    holding    my     breath,    the     perspiration 
of    anguish     on     n>y     forehead,    a     desperate 

•93 


ilJ 


fl 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

pang  in   my  heart,  and   the    horse.hoc   i„    .ny 

One    is   generally  more  t-.id  abroad  than 
at   home.       Beside,    to   be   surted   from  sleep 

as   I   had   been,  is  not  calculated   to  give  con- 
fidence.    I    was   terribly  afraid. 

Did  the  \vaitin<r  last  lono-  ?     i 
,    ,   .  '^  ^^^  '°"g  ^     1   cannot  sav  • 

but   It  seemed  an   age  to  me 

Of  what  the  thieves  had  done  in  the 
-anuh  e  I  had  no  idea.  I  had  lost  my 
head,  and  I  waited  for  the  end,  with  only  one 
hope:  that  the  burglars,  satisfied  with  their 
Phmde,  would  start  ofif  without  discovering  me. 
Ihat  hope  was  vain. 

The    ,„.o    shadow,    „.hich    .seemed    mon- 
»^™s  y  ,a„,,er., he   offices  and. ere  c,,™„« 

TT      '"''  ""=  "■«'" "' "-  '-ten,: 

wande,.,„g  .-.yht  and  left  as  ,f  to  explore  the 
premises,  and  a.  las.  falling  right  on  the  o.en 
oor,  „  ,e.e   du,nb  .ith  te.„.  and  .note  d;ad 
man    alve.   I    exnpnff^rt    4^1 

'        ^-^P^cted    the  catastrophe  M'hich 
-rdy  could  not  fail  ,„  ^  „,„  ^.  '^^^^ 

^t    this    critical     moment     fh« 
,         .  '"ument,   the    courage    of 

t7^'P™/"P--y''ear,a„d,,,,„;,J 

my  coomess  for  one  instant. 

•94 


3 


I 


ana  da 

ishoc  in    my 

abroad  than 
i  from  sleep 
to  give  con- 

cannot  say  ; 

one  in  the 
d  lost  my 
h  only  one 
with  their 
overing  me. 


mecl 


mon- 


Ere  cominpr 
le    lanterns 
xplore  the 
I  the  open 
more  dead 
phe  n'hich 
hand. 
3urage    of 
recovered 


1'Ii'J  Hoi'seslioc 


I   considered  the  situation. 

I  -said   to  myself  that  there  w-m  nni 

chance  of  escape  left  to  me  •     oT        "^  "" 
-sault   but   to   fell    one   o  "h  "'  '" 

fi-    bio.,    and    then    go    L     LT'      '   ^ 
to  man.  ^  ^''''    ''^^'^''    man 

Not  a  .second  elapsed  between  the  thought 
ana  its  execution  ^ 

"y    strength   and    w  th   terr/hlf.   ,.      •  • 
"gl"   a.    >he  head    of   one     f     .!  "' 

bandits.  .  ""=    ■''"PPosed 

yelH,,!:        ■    '°«"""    "■■■"^   »  f"™'<iab,o    voice 

"  Damn    it  '  dmi'i-    i.;ii    .1 

^,,  '"^"^    '^'Jl    tfie    police'" 

Tic    reaction    made    me   stao.e,- •    ;, 
so   sudden    that    I    could    h,     ^ 
H'ord  of  e.xcuse    to  th  -'    ''"^"^^'"   ^ 

'95 


ill 


'  H 


I 


:u. 


1 

n 

1 1 


Christmas  in  Fi-encli  Canada 

peace    whose    death    I    ^v•a.s    so    „early   Juicing 
on    m}-   conscience. 
AH   was   explained. 

Leaving  for   the   midnioht    mass,  Alphonse 
•  had  inadvertentlN-  left  the  big  iron  door  which 
led    to   our    apartments    unclosed  ;    th<;    spring 
lock  had   not   caught. 

The  two  poh'cemen,  particularly  on  the 
lookout  for  signs  of  burglary,  had,  on  their 
night  watch,  pushed  the  door,  and  finding  it 
unlocked,  entered  the  house  in  search"  of 
possible    mischief 

They  luid  visited  the  offices,  cxann-ncd  the 
iron  safes,  and  uere  just  completing  their 
inspection  by  a  tour  about  the  other  parts  of 
the  building,  when  my  weapon  had  struck 
and  broker,  the  brass  number  which  shone  on 
the    front   of  my   man's   shako. 

If  the  blow  had  struck  Uvo  inches  lower, 
the  unfortunate  man  would  have  been  killed.' 
I  recovered  by  degrees,  and  when  my 
friend  Alphonse  returned  from  church  puz- 
zled to  see  the  door  open,  he  found  me  busy 
uncorkmg  a  bottle  of  old  Kentucky  Bombon 
to  restore    my    nerves    in    the    first    place,    and 

196 


ii.lfAH-iitir.Srlt,.'  1 1 .  > 


nada 

^'irly   lia\ing 


IS,  Alphnnsc 
door  which 
th(;   spring 

rly   on     the 

d,   on    their 

i    fiiidintj   it 

search     of 

imiiicd  the 
-ting  their 
er  parts  o{ 
liad  struck 
1  slione  on 

• 

;hes  lower, 
ccn  killed, 
when  my 
Lirch  piiz- 
me  busy 
Bourbon, 
)lace,   and 


The  Horseshoe 


'    f '  •   '"■■   ^'""^    '"•»"   fellows  wl,.,   ,„„,„,«, 

"  Here's    to    your    luck  '  "    th^,.  ,   •       . 

with    n,.  ^     L-xclanned 

W'th    the    most    enthusiastic   spirit. 

""'-''•es     to     your      luck,     old      iVicnls  -  " 
answered    I    with     ,-,.    i  ' 

faction.  '="    -r.A^.,n^^i    satis- 

"Merry  Christmas!"   intervened   Alphonse 
ye„*"^    Chr,s.,n.s     a„„     ,     „„,,p^    ^^^ 

"God   bless  j.„  ,„,.,„„   p.,.,   ^,^  . 

My    c„,„,.ade    was    soon    acquainted  'with 
the   situation.  " 

"You    see,    old    fellow,"  he    s-i,VI    to 

"thit   !>   ,v-  J  •  i'L    said    to    me, 

t'^at  It   IS  good  sometimes  to  have  a    horse 
sh(je    near  one's   hand." 

f.uc,     sa„l    tl,e    policeman    vho    had    so 
narrowly    escaped    my    blow, 

"%   the   way,"   I   remarked,  ".speaking  of 
the   horseshoe,  what   has   be. .me   of  it-. 

"  '  """''  ''"™''"  '^-•'l  one  of  the  patrol  men. 

'97 


4 

i 


f    to  rll 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"Neither   do    I,"   said    the   other 

"The  fact  is.  I  did  not  hear  it  falV  said  I 
Let    us    look    for    it." 

And    armed    with    candles    and    with    the 

two    lanterns,    we    befran    fr  u     . 

.     ue    Degan     to    search    for    the 
horseshoe    in    pi-«,-,,  -i  i 

in    ever)'    possible    corner    of     the 
place.  ^ 

"But   where   could   it    be.'" 
"It   cannot    be   very    far,   anyway" 
"To   get   out   of  the  room,  it  should  have 
passed  through  the  glass  partition." 
"  And  we  heard  no  sound  whatever." 
"  And  not  a  pane  broken." 
"Strange,  isn't  it?" 
"  Unless    it    be   on    the   top   of  that 
ventured    one   of  the    policemen 

And    he    pointed    out    a    pile     of    empty 
barrels    standing    endwise    in    one    corner    of 

the     store,    and    which     almost     reached     the 
ceihno-.  "-"^ 

o 

"  It    is    impossible  !  " 

^      "Well,   I  shall  judge  for  myself,"  said   Pat 
Lend  me  your  shoulders,  Michael  " 

barrels'     rt      ''''"'"'      '"      ^'^     ^'     ^^^ 
barrels,    wh.ch    resounded    jovfull)-    under   the 

198 


iht-iHtitHimM-ti  titi'.ri^i  k-iH-i'i 


nada 

fall,"  said  I. 

'  with  the 
:h  for  the 
er    of     the 


lould  have 


;er. 


lat. 


f  empty 
orner  of 
hed     the 


said  Pat. 

of     old 
ider   the 


The  Horseshoe 

pressure    and    hammering    of    his    hands    and 
knees. 

At  last  he  reached  the  summit. 

"Hurrah,    boys!"    cried    he,    "here's    the 
beggar!" 

And      he      triumphantly     brandished      the 
horseshoe. 

Suddenly  : 

"Hold  on!"  .aid  he  ;  ■<  .here',  some.hin,. 
else.  Whaf,  this?  A  pocket-book,  b? 
J  ove !  ^ 

"My  pocket-book!"  exclaimed  Alphonse. 
And     f,,o     brave     policeman     almost     fell 
Cd  ""^   ''""''  '""'   *'''   Po^I^et-book    in    his 

'^  It  wouldn't  have  remained  there  twenty 
years,  said  he.  "Good  hiding  place.  Pretty 
smart,  the  thief"  ^ 

Alphonse  was  hugging  me,  laughing  to 
tears.  ^ 

"Friend,  friend,"  said  he,  "  the  horseshoe! 
will  you  believe  in  it  now  ?  " 

But  after  a  while  his  face  took  an  expres- 
sion of  sadness,  and  he  threw  the  pocket-book 
on   his  bed. 

199 


Jl 


m 


I 


Christmas  in  French  CanaLt 

"Oh!  John,"  said  he,  with  a  gesture  of 
discouragement,  "I  would  have  risi.od  a  icr- 
tune  in  his  handa  Who  can  be  trusted 
now  ?  " 

Tn   the   morning,   John    rnido    ids    ;ippear- 
ance,   ami    between    us    three,   we    found    the 
y   to   the   enigma. 

From  the  waistcoat  hanging  on  the  back 
of  tho  clrnr,  the  pocket-book  had  dropped 
irito  ;•  boot  which  had  happened  to  lie  right 
underneath. 

The  infernal  black  cat,  chased  by  d\\  the 
broom-sticks  of  the  establishment,  had  taken 
refuge  on  the  pile  of  whisky  barrels.  The 
boot,  thrown  by  Alphonse's  supple  wrist,  had 
turned  out  the  animal,  but  had  fallen  back 
empty. 

The  pocket-book  had  remained  on  the 
top  of  the  pile  of  barrels  ;  and,  as  nobody 
would  ever  have  suspected  its  presence  in 
such  a  place,  it  might,  in  spite  of  Pat's 
opinion,  have  stayed  there  twenty  years 
and  more,  had  it  not  been  for  the  horse- 
shoe. 

As  for  good  old  John,  if  he  is  still  living, 
200 


The  Iforsi'shoe 

he    doubtless    remembers    the   Christmas   box 
he   took    home   that   evcniii<r. 

And  as  for  me,  I  never  thought  one 
could  be  so  terribly  scared  on  a  Christmas 
Eve. 


i 


living, 


te 


I'! 


»„ 


'j.l 


Vt 


1.1 


'i  t 


Si    ! 


TOM.  CARIBOO 


it^'-^-:  2>'tf^ip^ 


./?/C^,  crac,  girls  and  boj-s  ! 

Par/of/s,    parlee,    par- 

loiv !       The      whole 

thing  if  you    want    to 

know,   pass    the    spittoon 

to    Fiddle   Joe ;    sacatabi, 

sac-d-tahac,    all    who     arc 

deaf    will     please     draw 

back." 

It  is  hardly  necessary 
to    mention   that   the   narra- 
tor    who    thus    commenced 
his    speech    was   Fiddle   Joe 
himself,    my     friend     Fiddle 
Joe,  presiding  over  a  vcillce  de  contcs  (a 
story    telling   party),  on   Christmas  Eve 
at   the    blacksmith's,   old    Jean    Bilodeau. 

202 


il  I 


■MMltkk 


Tom  Cariboo 

Poor  old  Bilodeau,  it  is  over  fifty  years 
now  since  I  heard  the  sound  of  his  anvil,  and 
I  fancy  I  can  see  him  yet,  sitting  in  the 
h'j,dit,  with  his  elbows  on  his  Ixiiees,  and  the 
shanl<  of  his  short  j^ipe  tightlx-  held  between 
his  three  remaining  teeth. 

Fiddle  Joe  was  a  queer  kind  of  a  fellow, 
very  interesting  and  very  popular,  who  had 
spent  his  j-outh  in  the  shanties,  and  was  very 
fond  of  relating  his  travelling  adventures  in 
the  pays  d'cn  haut,  the  t-mber  lands  of  the 
Ottawa,  the  Gatineau  and  the  St.  Maurice. 
That  day  he  happened  to  have  a  fit 
of  inspiration. 

lie  had  been  compere  in  the  morning, 
which  meant  he  had  stood  as  godfather  to  a 
new-born  child  ;  and,  as  the  accessories  of  the 
ceremony  had  brought  a  slight  breeze  into 
the  sails  of  his  natural  eloquence,  his  stories 
went  on  marvellously. 

All  camp  and  forest  incidents  of  course : 
fights,  casual ities,  fishings  extraordinary,  mi- 
raculous hunting  exploits,  visions,  sorcery, 
feats  of  all  kinds;  he  had  a  collection  to  suit 
every  taste. 

203 


ij 


^;M 


I  f 


''^feSf* 


(JhrisLmas  in  French  Canada 


"  Do  tell  us  ii  Christmas  story,  Joe,  if  you 
know  one,  to  fill  up  time  until  we  leave  for 
church,"  cried  a  girl  b\'  tlie  iiuiac  of  Phemie 
Boisvert. 

And  Fiddle  Joe,  who  prided  himself  on 
knowing  what  was  due  to  the  fair  sex,  had 
responded  by  the  characteristic  formula  as 
above.  Then,  after  haviUj-^  moistened  his 
throat  with  a  finger  deep  of  Jamaica,  and 
lighted  his  pipe  at  the  candle,  with  one  of 
tho.so  long  cedar  splinters  which  were  used 
by  our  country  folk  bcure,  and  even  after 
the  invention  of  phosphorus  matches,  he 
opened    his    narrative    in   the   following  terms : 

This  is  to  tell  you,  m\'  friends,  that,  on 
that  )'ear,  we  had  gone  rafting  above  Bytown, 
at  the  elbow  of  a  small  river  called  La 
Galeuse,  a  funny  name  but  whirh  is  of  no 
importance  to  what   I  ai  i  going  to  relate. 

We  were  fifteen  in  (jur  camp .  beginning 
with  the  boss,  and  ending  with  the  choreboy. 

Nearly  U  .vere  good  m' n,  not  quairelsome, 
not  given  to  cuss  words— of  course  I  don't 
speak  of  a  little  innocent  '.  caring  here  and 
there   to   keep  thing-      oing— and    nut    drunk- 


'^stswsmtot.^, , 


--^c-'jafc  jfcii 


Tom  Cariboo 

ards— with    the    exception     of    one,    I     must 
acknowledge— a  touirh  one   indeed. 

As  for  this  fellow,  boj-s,  he  was  not 
exactly  what  may  be  called  a  drunkard- 
when  he  happened  to  come  face  to  face  with 
a  demijohn,  or  when  his  lips  met  those  of 
flask  or  bottle,  he  was  no  longer  a  man,  he 
was  a  regular  funnel. 

He  came  somewhere  back  of  Three  Rivers. 

His  real  name  was  Thomas  Baribeau  ; 
but  as  our  foreman,  who  was  Irish,  had 
always  some  difficulty  over  this  French  name, 
we    had    nicknamed    him  "TOM   CARIBOO," 

Thomas  Baribeau— Tom  Cariboo— it  sound- 
ed pretty  much  the  same,  as  you  see.  At  all 
events,  it  was  the  fellow's  mwi  dc  ,^ncrri\  and 
th(  boss  had  caught  it  as  easily  as  though  it 
hau    jeen  a  name  freshly  imported  from  Cork. 

Anyhow,  to  speak  in  polite  terms,  Tom 
Cariboo,  or  Thomas  Baribeau,  as  j-ou  wish, 
had  a  galvanizcd-iron  throat  of  the  first 
quality,  and  he  wa^,  moreover,  a  patenteu 
ruffian  ;  but  something  out  of  the  common, 
to  give  the  Devil  his  due 

VVhe;    I  think  of  all    I  have  heard  him  say 


.■-ias%*'***«w-- 


Christiims  ill   I'Yciicli  Caiiadii 


(i 


;ijl:|; 


against  (  k1,  the  Blessed  Vir^iin,  the  i^ood 
an^'els,  the  saints  of  Heaven  and  all  the 
Holy  Trinity  taken  together,  I  still  feel  a 
shiver  down  my  back. 

Oh  !  the  worthless  swagger,  what  a  scamp 
lie  was ! 

He  swore,  he  lied,  he  cursed  his  father 
and  mother  five  or  six  times  a  day,  he  never 
said  a  word  of  prayer  ;  in  short,  I  don't  hesi- 
tate U>  say  that  his  miserable  carcase,  with 
his  soul  into  the  bargain,  was  not  worth, 
with  due  respect  to  the  company,  the  wag  of 
a  dog's  tail.     That's  my  opinion. 

There  were  not  a  few  in  our  crowd  who 
swore  to  having  seen  him  on  four  paws,  at 
night,  in  the  fields,  roving  about  in  the  shape 
of  some   devilish  lonp-garou. 

As  for  me,  my  friends,  I  saw  the  brute  on 
all  fours  several  times,  but,  take  my  word, 
he  was  neither  playing  the  lonp-garou,  nor 
anything  so  respectable,  I  assure  you :  he  was 
too  beastly  drunk   for  that. 

Anyhow,  I  must  tell  you  that,  for  some 
time,  I  was  one  of  those  who  thought  if  the 
rascal  practised  any  sorcery  at  all,  he   had   a 

io6 


trood 


/ 


Tom  Cariboo 

preference  for  the  cliasse-galerie  \  for,  one 
night,  Titoine  I'elchat,  one  of  our  ro.-ul 
cutters,  had  spied  him  comini;  down  a  big 
tree,  when  the  pagan  had  told  him  :  "  Toinc, 
curse  my  soul !  if  you  ever  mention  a  word 
of  this  to  anybody,  I'll  rip  you  cold,  that's 
all!" 

Of  course.  Titoine  had  not  failed  to  tell 
everybody  in  the  shant)-,  but  in  the  greatest 
confidence. 

If  you  don't  know  what  the  cliassc-galerie 
is,  my  friends,  I  am  the  man  to  post  you  fine 
on  the  matter,  for  the  chassc-galcric  I  can  boast 
of  having  seen   with  my  own   eyes. 

Yes,  I,  Fiddle  Joe,  (jne  Sunday  afternoon, 
'twixt  mass  and  vespers,  in  full  daylight,  I  saw 
the  infernal  machine  pass  in  the  air,  right  in 
front  of  the  church  of  St.  Jean  Deschaillons, 
on  my  soul  and  conscience,  as  clear  as  I  see 
you    now. 

It  was  something  like  a  canoe,  which 
travelled,  rapidly  as  an  arrow,  at  about  five 
hundred  feet  above  the  earth,  manned  by  a 
dozen  reprobates  in  red  flannel  shirts,  paddling 
like  damnation,  with   Satan    standing   in    the 


JMMh^^ 


Cliristnias  in  French  Canada 


1 ; 


I. 


stern,  steering    straight    forward    in    the   direc- 
tion of  Three  Rivers. 

We  could  even  hear  them  sing  in  chorus 
with  all    sorts    of  devilish    voices : 

/  "la  r/ion  vciil  '.   T'/a  FJoli  vait  !* 

But  I  may  say  there  are  many  who  don  t 
require  such  a  dis[:)lay  to  practise  chasse-g<xlcric. 

The  regular  scalawags  like  Tom  Cariboo, 
have  only  to  climb  up  a  tree,  and  launch 
themselves  on  a  branch,  or  stick,  or  anything 
else,  and   the  Dev'l   drives  them  on. 

Thus  they  travel  thousands  of  miles  in  a 
single  night  to  concoct  God  knows  what  kind 
of  jugglery,  in  some  infernal  recess  where 
honest  people  wouldn't  set  foot  for  a   fortune. 


'The  origin  of  this  chasse-galetie  legend  can  be  traced  to  the 
middle  .nges.  In  France  and  (jeriiviny,  they  had  what  w.-\s  called  the 
niack  Unntsiiian.  It  was  a  fantastic  coursing  which  rode  in  the  air 
with  wild  clamour  and  desper.Lte  speed,  through  the  darkness  of  the 
night.  In  French  Canada,  hy  a  curious  ph'-noniena  of  mirage 
observed  in  some  circumst.ince  sii^iil;ir  to  th;it  related  by  Fiddle  ]c\ti^  a 
mounted  canoe  was  seen  Hying  through  the  air,  and  the  same  was 
n.'ttiir.'itl}'  substituted  fi)r  the  Bl.-u-k  Huntsman,  who  went  also,  in 
some  Province  of  France,  by  the  name  of  Chasar-gnlerir.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  lumbermen  who.  by  the  way,  did  not  enjoy  a  very 
envi.ilile  reputation- managed  through  some  devilish  process,  to 
travel  in  this  way  to  save  fatigue  and  shorten  the  distance. 

208 


i   V 


Tom  Cariboo 

At  ail  events,  if  Tom  Cariboo  did  not 
practise  chasse-galerie,  when  he  used  to  steal 
out  alone  at  night,  peeping  about  to  sec  it- 
anybody  watched  him,  it  was  certainly  not  to 
go  to  confession,  for,  to  the  astonishment  of 
our  gang,  ahhough  there  was  not  a  drop  of 
liquor  in  the  whole  shanty,  the  blackguard 
smelt,  every  morning,  like  an  old  whiske)- 
cask. 

Where  c'id  he  get  the  stufif? 
It  vva.s  m  the  latter  part  of  December,  and 
Christmas    was    drawing    near,   when    another 
gang  workmg  for  the  same  firm,  about  fifteen 
miles  higher  up  on  the  Galeuse,  sent  word  that 
if   we   wanted    to    attend    midnight    mass,    we 
Hi^d    only   to  join    them,  for  a   missionary   on 
liis    way   down    from    the    Nipissing    w<;uld   be 
there    to  celebrate  it. 

"By  Jove!"  we  said,  "it  is  seldom  enough 
that  wc  see  an  Infant-Jesus  m  the  sha  .tics 
let  us  go  !  " 

We  are  not  angels  in  the  lumber  camps, 
you  know  that,  boys.  Even  when  we  dou't 
plague  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar  and 
scandalize    the    Bon    Dieu    from    morning   till 

209 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

ni'^ht  like  Tom  Cariboo,  one  can't  reasonably 
pass  six  months  in  the  woods  and  six  months 
on  the  rafts  every  year,  without  getting  a 
little  "  off"  on  his  duties. 

But  there  must  be  a  limit  to  rascality. 
Although  one  may  not  wear  out  his  knees  in 
the  church,  or  play  viistigri  every  night  with 
the  beadle,  he  likes  to  remember  at  times,  do 
you  see,  that  a  good  Canadian  boy  has  some- 
thing else  than  the  soul  of  a  dog  in  the  mould 
of  his  waistcoat,  so  to  speak. 

Consequently  the  trip  was  soon  decided 
upon,  and  everything  carefully  stowed  for  the 

occasion. 

It  was  b/illiant  moonlight ;  the  snow  was 
fine  for  a  tramp  ;  we  could  start  after  supper, 
be  there  in  time  for  mass,  and  back  again 
for  breakfast  in  the  morning,  in  case  we 
could   not  spend  the  night  over  there. 

"You  shall  go  by  yourselves,  you  con- 
founded fools:"  cried  Tom  Cariboo,  with  a 
.string  of  blasphemies,  almost  splitting  his 
knuckles  with  a  blow  of  his  fi.st  on  the 
shanty  table. 

As    you    may    well    imagine,  none    of  us 


T 


reasonably 
ix  months 
getting   a 

rascality. 

s  knees  in 

night   with 

t  times,  do 

has  some- 

the  mould 

Dn  decided 
ved  for  the 

:  snow  was 
fter  supper, 
back  again 
1  case  we 
ere. 

,  you  con- 
loo,  with  a 
flitting  his 
ist    on    the 

lone    of  us 


Tom  Cariboo 

thought  of  kneeling  down  to  coax  the  ruffian. 
The  absence  of  such  a  parishioner  could  not 
spoil  the  ceremony,  and  there  was  no  need 
of  his  sweet  breathing  voice  to  intone  the 
sacred  hymns. 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  wish  to  go,"  said  the 
foreman,  "do  as  you  please,  my  dear  fellow. 
You'll  sta\-  here  to  watch  the  fire.  And  since 
you  don't  care  about  seeing  God,  I  hope  you 
won't  see  the  Devil,  while  we  are  au-ay." 

Well    then,   boys,   off   we    go,    with    belts 
tight     around    the    waists,    snow    shoes     well 
lastened    at   the   toes   of  our   moccasins,   each 
with  his  little  bag  of  eatables  on  his  shoulder, 
and  a  twist  of  tobacco  right  behind  his  teeth.' 
As    we   had    only  to  follow  the  frozen   befl 
of  the  river,  the  road   was  a  trifle  of  course  ; 
and  we  marched  on,  singing  "  La  Bonlcw^ri^re} 
on  the  fine,  levelled,  white  snow,  under  l  sky 
as    transparent   as    cr)-stal,   without    a   crevice 
or  jolting  to  hamper  our  progress. 

All  I  can  say,  mj'  friends,  is  that  merry 
parties  of  that  kind  are  far  between  in  shanty 
life.  ^ 

Ton   my   word,    I    fancied   we   could    hear 

311 


\n 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

the  old  church  bell  pealing  :  "  Come  on  ! 
come  on  ! "  as  in  the  good  old  times ;  and 
more  than  once,  bless  my  soul  !  I  couldn't 
help  turning  round  and  looking  back  to  see 
if  we  were  not  followed  by  some  of  the  fine 
little  Canadian  trotters  of  home,  with  manes 
floating  in  the  wind,  and  a  row  of  merry 
bells    ringing   at   their    martingales. 

That's  what  sharpens  the  wit  of  a  country 
boy,  I  tell  you.  And  you  ought  to  have 
seen  Fiddle  Joe  paddling  his  canoe  that 
night : 

1  suppose  it  is  useless  to  tell  you  that 
our  midnight  mass  was  not  as  brilliant  as 
an   archbishop's   ceremony. 

The  vestments  of  the  priest  were  not 
exactly  what  may  be  called  imposing ;  there 
was  no  danger  of  being  blinded  by  the  glare 
of  the  altar  decoration  ;  the  singers'  wind- 
pipes were  not  oiled  like  a  nightingale's 
throat,  and  the  acolytes  would  doubtless 
have  showed  a  more  natural  gait  with 
shoulder  under  a  canthook  than  a  censer 
at   arm's   length. 

You  may  add,  besides,  that  there  wasn't 
3ia 


fmrilBsBi^T  '•  : 


ijJsTffmmru 


t»A^ 


,iS£>PSftS«Sr 


nada 

Come  on  ! 
times  ;  and 
I  couldn't 
Dack  to  see 
of  the  fine 
with  manes 
\r   of    merry 

if  a  country 
It  to  have 
canoe     that 

1!  you  that 
brilliant    as 

were  not 
)sinfT ;  there 
ly  the  glare 
igers'  wind- 
lightingale's 
1     doubtless 


gait     with 


1     a    censer 


:here  wasn't 


Tom  Cariboo 

even  the  shadow  of  an  Infant-Jesus;  which, 
as  you  all  know,  is  no  small  drawback  to 
a   Christmas    performance. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  good  old  man  Job 
himself  couldn't  have  been  more  poorly  fitted 
to  say  his  daily  mass. 

But  no  matter,  there  are  lots  of  church 
services  with  music  and  gilded  ornaments 
which  are  not  worth  the  one  we  had  that 
night,  my  friends,  take  Fiddle  Joe's  word  for  it! 
It  reminded  us  of  old  times,  do  you  see. 
of  the  old  parish,  of  the  old  home,  of  the  old 
mother,  and  all  that. 

Good  gracious  me  I  you  all  know  that 
Fiddle  Joe  is  no  squinny  nor  crying  baby; 
well,  I  had  never  done  passing  my  quid  from 
one  cheek  to  the  other  to  control  my  emotion. 
But  that's  enough  about  this  part;  let  us 
see  what  had  happened  to  Tom  Cariboo 
during   our   absence. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that,  after  the  mass 
was  over,  w.  returned  to  our  camp  by  the 
same  way,  so  that  it  was  full  daylight  when 
we  reached  the  shanty. 

At  first,  we  were  greatly  surprised   not   to 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

see  a  single  thread  of  smoke  rising  from  the 
chimney;  but  \V(>  were  still  more  astonished  when 
we  found  tlie  door  wide  open,  the  stove  without 
an  ember,  and  not  a  trace  of  Tom  Cariboo. 

As  true  as  I  live,  our  first  thought  was 
that  the  Devil  had  carried  him  away.  A 
worthless    cha[)    like    him,   do    you    see.  .  . 

But,  after  all,  that  was  n>)  reason  for  not 
looking  for  him. 

Hard  enough  it  was  to  look  for  him,  for 
not  a  bit  of  snow  had  fallen  for  several  days, 
and  the  consecjuence  was  there  were  thous- 
ands of  foot-prints  around  the  shanty  and 
even  in  the  surrounding  woods,  all  so  well 
crosoed  and  mixed  up  together,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  make  out  anything  of  them. 

Fortunately  the  boss  had  ;".  very  smart 
dog :  Polisson,  as  wc  used  to  call  him  for  a 
pet  name. 

"  Search,  Polisson  !  "  said  we. 

And  off  g(jes  Polisson  searching  out  right 
and  left,  his  nose  in  the  snow,  wigging  his 
tail,  while  the  rest  of  us  followed  on  with  a 
double-barrelled  gun  loaded  with  bullets,  and 
which  I  carried  m)'self. 

21.| 


•m 


W 


■■Wml 


■  ••%   y*.t , 


ttitit,ti,it 


ada 


Tom  Cariboo 


g  from  the 
lished  when 
n'e  without 

Cariboo. 
1  ought    was 

a\»'a)-.       A 
sec.  .  , 
ii)ii    for  not 

or  him,  for 
;vcral  days, 
-ere  thous- 
■ihanty  and 
all  so  well 
Lhat  it  was 
f  them. 
very  smart 
him    for  a 


g  out  right 

nggiiig    his 

on  with    a 

bullets,  and 


A  good  gun  in  a  shanty  is  like  the  petti- 
coat of  a  woman  in  a  family.  Remember  that, 
my  friends. 

We  had  not  been  two  minutes  |)eeping 
through  the  branches,  when  our  clog  suddenly 
stood  still  in  his  tracks,  trembling  like  a  leaf 
'Pen  my  word,  if  lie  had  not  been  ashamed 
I  think  the  scamp  would  have  made  a  right 
about  for  the  house. 

As  for  me,  I  threw  up  my  gun  and  stepped 
forward. 

You'll  never  imagine,  my  friends,  what  I 
saw  right  in  front  of  me,  on  the  slope  of  a 
ravine  where  the  wood  was  thicker  and  the 
snow   heavier   than   eLscwhere.  .  . 

It  wasn't  funny  at  all,  I  tell  you.  Or 
rather,  it  would  have  been  very  funny,  if  it 
hadn't    been    so    fearful. 

Just  fancy  that  our  Tom  Cariboo  was 
roosted  in  the  fork  of  ;i  big  wild  cherry 
tree,  pale  as  a  winding-sheet,  his  eyes  start- 
ing out  of  their  sockets,  at  the  muzzle  (jf 
a  she-bear  who  clung  to  the  trunk  about 
two    feet    below    him. 

Thunder !    Fiddle    Joe    is    not    a   man    to 

2'5 


Clii'istmas  in  French  Canada 

skedaddle  when  called  upcMi  to  face  a  squall, 
\oii  all  know  that  ;  well,  this  terrible  sight 
made  my  blood  whirl  up  from  my  toes  to 
the    nape    of  my    neck. 

"This  is  the  time  not  to  miss  your  aim 
iny  pcjor  I'^'ddle  Joe,"  said  I  to  m\'selt. 
"Point    blank  I    or    God    save   }'our    soul!" 

Shifting;  was  no  use:  bini,^  !  banLj !  .  .  . 
I  aimed  and  shot  both  barrels  at  once,  ni)- 
two  bullets  strikint,^  the  beast  rii^ht  between 
the    shoulders. 

She    cjave     a    f^rcnvl,    stretched     her     paws, 
swung    for    a    moment,   and    then     fell     head 
long   with    her    back    broken. 

It  was  high  time.  M)'  gun  was  still 
smoking,  when  I  saw  another  mass  tum- 
bling   down    from    the    tree. 

It  was  Tom  Cariboo,  who  s])read  himself 
fainting  and  sprawling  right  across  the  dying 
she-bear.  He  was  terribl}'  torn  by  her  claws, 
which  had  struck  him  more  than  once,  and 
his  hair.  .  .  Well,  now,  try  and  guess,  my 
friends.  .  .   His    hair    had    all    turned    white! 

Yes,  as  white  as  snow.  Fear  had  turned 
his    hair    white    in    a    single    night,    as    true   as 

216 


inysclt. 

1  I" 


head  - 


After  tchit'l,   if 
to    fhr   ('anin 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Scieices 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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^1>^  <^1>^" 


1^  .->> 


Tom  Cariboo 


I  intend  to  take  nn  p'tit  coup  by  and  by, 
with  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  permission 
of  Uncle  Bilodeau,  who  shan't  lose  anythinp; 
by   it. 

Yes,  honestly,  the  rascal  had  suddenly 
grown  so  old,  that  some  of  us  would  not 
believe    it    was    the   same    man. 

We  hurriedly  made  a  kind  of  hand-barrow 
with  branches,  and  we  laid  the  poor  fellow 
on  it,  cautiously  handling  that  portion  of  his 
body  which  had  been  damaged  b}-  the  bear's 
claws;  and  so  carried  him  back  to  the  shanty 
half  dead,  and  frozen  nearly  as  hard  as  a 
piece   of  Bologna   sausage. 

After  which,  it  was  the  bear  we  had  to 
drag  to  the  camp. 

But  here's  the  fun  of  it. 

You  may  call  me  a  liar  if  you  wish ;  it 
wasn't  credible,  but  the  infernal  beast  seemed 
to  have  inherited  poor  Tom's  most  character- 
istic quality,  and  was  smelling  of  rum  like  a 
seasoned  cask,  so  much  so  that  Titoine  Pel- 
chat  said  it  gave  him  a  mind  to  lick  the 
animal. 

But   it   was   no   miracle. 


Christmas  in  Fiouch  Canada 

You  know,  my  friends  —  if  you  don't, 
Fiddle  Joe  will  tell  you  —  that  the  bears 
don't  spend  their  winters  working  hard  as 
we  do,  poor  lumbermen  building  rafts  for 
the   spring. 

So  far  are  they  from  working,  that  they 
haven't   even    the   energy   to   eat. 

At  the  first  frosts  of  Autumn,  they  dig 
a  hole  between  the  roots  of  a  tree,  and  lie 
there  for  the  winter,  buried  alive  in  the  snow 
which  the  animal's  breath  melts  from  the 
inside,  so  as  to  form  a  k'nd  of  oven  where 
they  spend  the  whole  season,  half  asleep 
like  marmots,  and  licking  their  paws  for  a 
living. 

Our  own,  that  is  Tom  Cariboo's  bear,  had 
chosen  the  roots  of  that  particular  cherry  tree 
to  shelter  himself,  while  Tom  had  chosen  a 
forked  branch  in  the  same.  .  .  You'll  knov\ 
what  for  in  a  moment. 

C>nly,  as  you  remember  that  the  ground 
was  on  a  slope,  Tom  Cariboo  —  which  was 
quite  natural  —  gained  his  branch  from  the 
upper  side  of  the  declivity;  and  the  she-bear 
— which   was    natural    also — had  dug  her  hole 

3l8 


iiijifit'ttiiitj 


ula 

()U     don't, 

;hc    bec'trs 

Iiard     as 

rafts     for 

that    they 

they  dig 
2,  and    lie 

the  snow 
from  the 
ven  where 
ilf  asleep 
,w.s    for    a 

bear,  had 
herry  tree 

chosen  a 
m'll    knov\ 

\e  ground 
vhich  was 
from  the 
2  she-bear 
r  her  hole 


Tom  Cariboo 

from    the    lower    side,   where    the    roots   were 
not   so   deeply  buried    in   the   sod. 

This  accounts  for  these  two  savages  having 
lived  neighbors  and  almost  partners,  without 
having  ever  met;  each  of  them  being  under 
the  impression  that  he  iiad  the  exclusive 
possession    of  the   premises    for   himself 

You  will  probably  ask  what  business  Tom 
Cariboo  had  in  the  fork  of  that  tree. 

Well,  in  that  fork  there  was  a  hole,  and 
in  that  hole  our  drunkard  had  hidden  a  jar 
of  high-wines  which  he  had  smuggled  into 
the  camp,  we  never  exactly  knew  how.  I 
suppose  he  had  made  us  tow  it  under  water 
behind  one  of  our  canoes,  at  the  end  of  a 
string. 

At  all  events,  he  had  it ;  and  almost 
every  night  he  would  sneak  out  and  climb 
the   tree   to   fill   his   flask. 

It  was  from  that  nest  of  his  that  Titoine 
Pelchat  had  seen  him  coming  down,  that 
time  we  spoke  of  the  chasse-galerie ;  and 
that  was  why,  every  morning,  one  could 
have  set  the  scoundrel  on  fire,  merely  by 
passing    a   live   coal    under    his   nose. 

219 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Well,  then,  after  we  bad  left  for  the 
midnii,^ht  mass,  Tom  Cariboo  had  gone  to 
fill    his    flask    out    of  the    hidden    demijohn. 

On  a  merry  day  like  Christmas,  of  course, 
the  flask  was  soon  emptied,  although  there 
was  only  one  drunkard  to  treat ;  and  Tom 
returned  to  his  cupboard  to  renew  his 
stock. 

Unfortunate!)',  if  the  flask  was  empty,  it 
was  not  the  case  with  its  master ;  on  the 
contrary,   its  master   was    too    full. 

The  demijohn,  carelessly  handled  and 
uncorked,  overflowed  on  the  other  side  of 
the  cherry  tree,  right  on  the  muzzle  of  the 
she-bear. 

At  first,  the  animal  had  naturally  licked 
her  chops,  sniffing;  and  then,  finding  that 
this  kind  of  rain  had  a  peculiar  taste  and 
smell,  she  had  opened  her  eyes.  Her  ej'es 
open,   the   whisky-   had    flowed    into   them. 

High-wines,  friends !  it's  no  use  asking  if 
the   beast   awoke    for   good. 

On  hearing  her  howls,  Tom  Cariboo  began 
to  descend  the  tree,  but  noi  a  bit !  Stop, 
boy  !     The  bear,    having    also    heard   a   noise, 


ti((jii«i<U3 


Stop, 


Tom  Cariboo 

had  walked  around  the  tree,  and  before  the 
poor  devil  was  half  way  clown,  she  had 
clapped  a  destroying  paw  on  the  most 
prominent  part 
of  the  descend- 
ing  intruder. 

But  the 
mo  n  ster  wa  s 
too  torpid  to 
do  more  ;  and, 
while  our  hea- 
then was  climb- 
ing back  up  the 
tree,  bleeding 
and  terrified,  she 
remained  cling- 
ing to  the  bark, 
without  being 
able  to  follow 
further   up. 

That's  what 
had  happened. 
You  see,  that 
if  the  bear  smelt  of  whisky,  it  was  no  miracle. 

Poor   Tom   Cariboo !   between   ourselves,  it 

321 


Tom   Cariboo  hci^ait  /o  descend. 


!        ! 


fee     Silii  f     • 


Christinas  in  French  Canada 

took    three    long    weeks    to    repair    his    dam- 


ages. 


Never  could  we  convince  the  repentant 
drunkard  that  it  was  not  Satan  who  had 
appeared  to  him,  and  who  had  thus  lacer- 
ated   his.  .  ,  feelings. 

You  ought  to  have  seen  him,  begging 
even  the  dog's  pardon  for  all  his  oaths  and 
all    his    nightly   sprees* 

He  couldn't  sit  down,  of  course;  and  so 
had    to    kneel. 

It  was  his  punishment  for  having  refused 
to  do   so  on  Christmas  Eve. 

And  lifting  his  glass  to  his  lips.  Fiddle 
Joe  added  : 

Cric,    crac !    .    .    Sacatabi    sac-a-tabac ! 
Here's   to   your   luck,   old    Jack! 


222 


HAT'S  a  rattlirif^  fine 
stor)-!"  said  old  Jean 
Bilodeau  ;  "  but  haven't  you 
got  another  one?  There 
is  plent)'  of  time  yet  for 
midnight  mass." 

"Yes,    tell    us    another 
story,     Uncle     Joe,"     said 
Phemie     Boisvert ;    "don't 
223 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

you  know  any  about  that  Chassc-galeric  yow 
were   speaking   of  just   now  ? " 

"  Good  !  "  said  we  all  around,  "  a  Christmas 
story  of  the  Chassc-GalcricV 

Fiddle  Joe  had  never  to  be  asked  twice : 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.  "  Cric  cnxc,  boys 
and  girls  .  .  .     Parlous,  parlce,  pailozi.'  ..." 

Et  cetera.     And  he  went  on  : 

This  is  to  tell  you,  m\'  friends,  that,  on 
that  year,  I  was  hired  by  old  Dawson,  for 
squaring  timber  at  a  lumber  shanty  h«  had 
opened  at  the  entrance  of  the  Rat  River,  on 
the  St.  Maurice,  together  with  a  gang  of 
raftsmen    from    Three    Rivers. 

Although  the  7'<))'(tj^r//rs  of  Three  Rivers 
are  a  prett\'  rough  lot,  as  you  will  see  by 
and  b)',  the  winter  we  spent  there  was  peace- 
ful enough,  owing  to  a  very  extraordinary 
accident  which  happened  to  one  of  us  on 
Christmas  Eve,  and  which  I  am  going  to 
relate. 

As  you  all  knf)w,  I  reckon,  for  squaring  a 
piece  of  timber  it  requires  two  men,  one  to 
handle  the  squaring-axe,  and  the  other  to 
pick   and    butt :    so   the   boss   had    mated    me 

224 


mada 

'-galerie  j'ou 

a  Christmas 

ced  twice : 

erne,    boys 
loxo  ..." 

ds,  that,  on 
Dawson,  for 
mty  he  had 
xX.  River,  on 
a    gang    of 

liree  Rivers 
will  .sec  by 
;  was  peace- 
xtraordinary 
e  of  us  on 
n    going    to 

r  squaring  a 
ncn,  one  to 
he  other  to 
1   mated    me 


Titan 


o-e 


with  a  queer   fellow    whom    his  coniradcs  had 
nicknamed    Titniigr. 

Titange  is  a  contraction  for  pctitange, 
which  means  "little  angel."  A  prettv-  odd 
name  for  a  shantyman,  but  I  couldn't  help  it, 
could  \}     What  was  the  origin  of  thit  name? 


"  Looked  !i!;c  a  frillcr  out  of  I  he  Jn^ii^ 


/a,i." 


It  appears  the  fellow  had   got    it   through  his 
mother. 

His     father,     Johnny     IMorissette,    was    as 
strongly     built    a    man     as    could     be    found 


V    i 


1ft 


3^ 


ii 


.) 


!♦  n 


! 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

among  the  St.  Maurice  voya<,'eiirs  in  his  day, 
and  although  of  a  quiet  cliaracter,  was  par- 
ticularly proud  of  his  muscles.  Fancy  how- 
cheap  the  poor  man  felt  when,  one  fine  spring, 
on  returning  home  after  a  shanty  wintering,  his 
wife  handed  him  a  small  rickety  bit  of  a  tot, 
who  looked  like  a  fntter  out  of  the  frying 
pan,  saying  :     "  Kiss  your  son,  my  friend  !  " 

"What  is  this?"  exclaimed  J  ihnny  Moris- 
sette,  who  nearly  choked  himself  swallowing 
his   quid. 

"  This  is  a  little  angel  that  the  good  God 
has   sent   us   while   you   were  away." 

"  An  angel !  Bless  my  soul,  my  dear 
woman,  I'd  just  as  soon  take  it  for  a  shabby 
attempt  at  a  scarecrow  !  " 

But  the  poor  fellow  had  to  take  the  brat 
as  he  was,  of  course — there  was  no  help  fc/r 
it ;  and,  as  he  seldom  missed  the  chance  of  a 
joke,  when  he  saw  one  of  his  chums  passing 
his    house,  he  would  shout  out : 

"  Hello  !  won't  you  come  and  have  a  look 
at    my   '  little   angel  ?  ' " 

And  so  the  boy  grew  i:  >  known  by  all  as 
Johnny    Morissette's    little    angel  ;     and    with 

aa6 


I 


.*'lf  «(  ««^ll«i€^( 


luidii 

ill  his  day, 
r,   was    par- 
Fancy    how 
fine  spring, 
•intcring,  his 
bit  of  a  tot, 
the    frying 
/  friend  ! " 
linny  Moris- 
swallowing 

e  good  God 

y." 

1,  my  dear 
or  a  shabby 

ke  the  brat 
no  help  for 
chance  of  a 
urns  passing 

have  a  look 

vn  by  all  as 
;     and    with 


I 


I 


Titanj(o 

time  he  came  to  bear  no  other  na.nc  but  that 
of  Titangc. 

When  I  talk  of  his  growing  up.  it  would 
be  a  mistake  to  think  that  he  ever  turned 
out  to  be  anything  like  a  patch  to  his  father 
Far  from  it :  he  was  horn  a  weakling  and  he 
remained  a  weakling.  In  short,  as  a  man  he 
was  a  dead  failure. 

This    must    have    bee.i    a   great    worry   to 
h.m.  for,  take  my  word,  in    the   whole   of  my 
l>fe.  whether  in  the  woods   or   on    the   rafts    I 
never  saw  such  a  blazing  fire-brand.     Althou'di 
he  was  no  h-'gger  than  my  fist,  as  a  make  u^p 
I    suppose,   ne    fussed,   and    fumed,  and  swore' 
and   stormed  like  a  whole  shantv  ^.ang,  all  by 
I'lmself.      At    every   turn    and    mostl .   for   no 
purpose,    he    would    viciously    swing  '  his    a.xe 
and     promise     nothing    dse    but     to    kill     to' 
destroy,    to    slaughter,   to   rip   you    open  'and 
tear   your   heart   out. 

Those  who  knew  no  better  took  him  for 
a  demon  and  were  scared  to  death ;  but  I 
could  .size  him  up  better  than  that.  And 
then,  as  we  were  mated  together,  do  you  see, 
I  had  to  bear  with  him  such  as  he  was.     The 

227 


mSmSSssameammtm 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

consequence  was,  that,  in  spite  of  his  rough 
ways,  we  remained  pretty  good  friends  ;  and 
so  we  had  a  chat  now  and  again  at  our 
work,  without  wasting  time  of  course. 

One  morning— it  was  the  day  before 
Christmas— the  fellow  dropped  his  axe,  and 
started  staring  at  me  like  some  one  having  a 
mighty  big  thing  to  tell. 

I  stopped  also,  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Uncle  Joe  !  "  said  he,  spying  around. 

"What's  up,  Titange?"  said  I. 

"  Are  you  a  safe  man  for  a  secret  ?  " 

"Did  you  ever  hear  me  tattle  about?" 

«  No,  but  I  would  like  to  know  if  I  could 
trust  you  with  something  very  particular." 

"  Well,  that  depends." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  if  there  is  no  mischief  in- 
tended .  .  .  .' 

"  Thei\.  is  no  mischief  whatever ;  the  ques- 
tion is  to  go  and  have  a  little  jollification 
to-night  at   old   Calice  Doucet's  of  the   Ban- 

lieue  ? 

"Which  Banlieue?" 

"  The  Banlieue  of  Three  Rivers,  to  be  sure 
aaS 


:iilMi.iitSM 


mmfii  uti  JiSsi 


nischief    in- 


s,  to  be  sure 


■  iaam,-^,-.Mlmf 


ada 

his  rough 
ends  ;  and 
lin  at  our 
se. 

iay  before 
5  axe,  and 
le  having  a 

lim. 
around. 

:ret?" 
about  ?  " 
V  if  I  could 
ticular." 


;r;  the  ques- 
;  jollification 
of  the   Ban- 


Si 


•Vi,      •     ^rf 


(itvichuj  hop  " 


//V///.S  n   iiirc 


I'.ltfc   JiS 


'  -  '"-""W  iir«3« 


t: 

t 


of   I  he    iiais- 


HwiiiSftjIMiJi^p- 


faiEr« 


■HUMV^'W-   ■    .    -T 


iSBUfj'i 


UKJit 


rret?" 


.  ..if. 


oi    the    Bau- 


s,U^ 


I     * 


ir  i 


•  ^«>«it.-jljl<2ij 


wxn 


th 


fifiiif'"''*"^"'**'''^ 


Titange 

0,d  Calice  Doucet  is  a  tip-top  fiddler,  do  you 
see;   on  every  Otristmas  Eve   there.  ahva>s 

a  nice  dancing  hop   with   pretty  g.rl.   at   h,s 

"'"you  mean  to  go  dancing  at  the  Danlieue 
of  Three  Rivers  to-night !  More  than  t«o 
hundred    miles    through    the    woods,    wuhout 

roads  or  teams  1     Are  you  mad  ? 

..  There  is  no  need  of  roads  or  teams. 
.•How  is  that?     Do  you  imagine  you  can 

travel  as  the  crow  flies?" 

■One  can  travel  much  easier  than  the  crow 

flies,  uncle  Joe."  ^^ 

"Over  forests  and  mountains? 

"  Over  anything  at  all." 

...pon  my  word.  I  don't  understand  you. 

"Uncle  Joe,"  said  he,  glancing   once    more 
all    around    as   if  to  make  sure   nobody   wa 
near    by;    "you    must    have    heard    of    the 
Cto^-W^''^-^  before  this,  haven t  you? 

"  Of  course  I  have." 

"  Well  ?  " 

«Well,  you    don't    mean    to    run    Chasse- 

galerie,  do  you  ?  "  _^ 

"Why  not?  we  are  no  children. 
229 


..J 


Ml  / 


/ .  I 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

On    my  conscience   and  honor,  my  friends 

on    hearing   that,  the    shivers    ran    do^vn    my' 

back.      I    felt   as    if   a    heUish    warm    breath 

passed  right   in   my  face.     I    tottered    on    my 

legs,   and    my   axe    shook     so    in     my   hands 

that   twice   I   missed   the  chalk   Hne,   a    thing 

which   had  not  yet  happened  to   me  that  fall. 

"But,    Titange,    my    dear    fellow,"   said   I, 

"have   you   truly  no   fear   of  God?" 

"Fear  of  God!"  exclaimed  the  ruffian  in 
an  outburst  of  blasphemous  laughter.  "  There 
is  no  God  around  here.  Don't  you  know 
we  have  stored  him  en  cache  at  the  Forge 
village?  It's  all  very  well  down  below,  but 
up  the  river,  with  all  cautions  taken,  as  long 
as  you  are  all  right  with  the  Devil,  every- 
thing goes." 

"Will   you    hold   your   tongue,   you    repro- 
bate!"  said    I. 

"Now,  now,  come,  uncle  Joe!"  said  he 
"  Don't  be  such  a  hayseed.  Here,  listen  to 
me,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  how  the  thing  is 
worked." 

And  chopping  ahead,  he  went  on  quietly 
to  tell  me  all    about   the  whole   infernal    con- 

230 


mada 

my  friends, 
down  my 
arm  breath 
red  on  my 
my  hands 
ne,  a  thing 
ne  that  fall, 
•vv,"   said   I, 

-  ruffian    in 
;r.     "There 

you    know 

the    Forge 

below,    but 

-n,  as  long 

:vil,   every- 

^'ou   repro- 

said    he. 
,  listen  to 

-  thing   is 

)n  quietly 
rnal    con- 


Titange 

corn.  A  true  invention  of  Satan  himself,  my 
friends,  no  more  nor  less.  My  flesh  crawls 
only  to   think   of  it. 

I  must  warn  you,  by  the  way,  that  if 
the  town  of  Three  Rivers  has  a  great  name 
for  its  good  people,  it  has  a  mighty  great 
one  too  for  those  who  are  not.  And  if  we 
are  to  go  by  the  set  of  worthless  scamps  it 
supplies  every  year  to  the  lumber  shanties, 
that  reputation  is  not  a  stolen  one,  I  tell  you  ! 
I  know  Sorel,  and  I  know  Bytown ;  and  I 
can  stake  my  word  for  it,  as  far  as  roughs 
are  concerned,  there  is  nothing  to  beat 
Three  Rivers. 

If  you  want  to  know  how  far  those  scoun- 
drels can  go,  listen.  When  they  start  for  the 
shanties  in  the  fall,  they  are  too  darn  wicked 
to  go  to  confession,  of  course ;  but  as  they 
still  dread  God  somewhat,  they  put  Him  en 
cache,  as  they  say;  which  means  they  lock 
Him  up. 

How  do  they  go  through  that  hellish 
game?  This  is  what  I  am  going  to  explain, 
at    least   according  to  what  Titange   told    me. 

First,  they  get  a  bottle  of  rum  which  has 

2.3' 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

been  filled  up  at  midnight,  on  All  Souls'  day, 
by  the  left  hand  of  a  fcllcnv  standing  heels 
over  head.  This  bottle  they  hide  well  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe,  and  they  start  for  the 
St.  Maurice  Forges,  the  first  station  on  their 
way  up. 

That's  where  the  fine  work  of  the  devilish 
trick  is  gone  through.  Remember,  the  chapel 
of  the  village  has  a  flight  of  wooden  door 
steps.  Weil,  v.hen  it  is  pitch  dark,  one  of 
the  scalawags  lifts  up  one  of  the  planks,  while 
another  empties  the  bottle  in  the  hole,  say- 
ing : 

"  Gloria  pat  ri,  gloria  patro,  gloria  pat  nun" 

To    which   the    other   replies,  replacing  the 
plank  as  it  was  : 

"  Let    the   cat  free,   let    the   t^'iiul  bhni>,   let 
the  boys  dm  in  !  " 

"  After  which,"  added  Titange,  "  if  yon  are 
all  right  with  old  Harry,  you  need  not  fear 
anything  for  the  whole  winter.  Beyond  the 
Pointe-aux-Baptemes,  God  is  nowhere ;  no 
saints,  no  angels,  nothing  at  all!  One  can 
work  the  Chassc-galerie  every  night  if  he 
wishes    to.       The   canoe    travels    like   wind    at 

232 


Souls'  clay, 
iding  heels 
well  in  the 
:ait  for  the 
on  on  their 

;he  devilish 
the  chapel 
)oden  door 
rk,  one  of 
anks,  while 
hole,  say- 

z  patnitn." 
)lacing  the 

'  lilozu,    let 


if  )'ou  are 
i  not  fear 
jyond  the 
here  ;      no 

One  can 
:ht    if    he 

wind    at 


■■«f|.;. 


'' Beyomf    the    Pninfe-mur-fiapfp.un's    (r<d    is 
nowhere  " 


I'.iKt    -i.i-t 


^!^i: 


t 
c 

s 

t 

a 


a 
ai 
P 

Si 

w 
w 


-  -  v"-v'»te|i.  '.t,^... 


•*-SS«l*^,»«,Si*iiki» 


;       I 


I     ( 


iltiitSi.i.i, 


Titaiige 

Inindrcds  of  feet  above  the  earth  ;  and  as 
long  as  you  do  not  utter  the  name  of  Christ, 
or  of  the  \';rf,Mn,  and  you  take  care  not  to 
run  against  the  church  steeples,  you  can  pad- 
dl=^  thousands  of  miles  ahnost  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye.     Isn't  that  smart  ?  " 

"  And  this  is  what  you  are  after  to- 
night?"  said    I. 

"Yes,"   he   replied. 

"And  you  want  to  take  me  along  with 
you  ? " 

"  That's  it.  We  are  five  alread)-  ;  if  you 
join  us,  it  will  make  six:  just  one  at  the 
bow,  another  at  the  helm,  and  two  paddlers 
on  each  side.  I  have  thought  of  you,  uncle 
Joe,  because  of  your  brawny  arm,  of  your 
sharp  sight  and  your  spunk.  Now,  say  yes, 
and  we  shall  have  a   high   old  time  to-night." 

"What!  and  this  on  the  holy  Christmas 
Eve,  too  ...  !     Do  you  think  of  it  ? "   said   I. 

"Why,  this  is  nothing  but  fun,  and 
Christmas  is  a  da>-  of  rejoicings,  you  know 
that.' 

As  you  may  well  think,  my  friends,  al- 
though Fiddle  Joe  may  not    be  a  Christian  of 

233 


i 


',1 


t^Mtmmtmummta 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

the  first  water,  I  couldn't  stand  such  profanity 
without  being  startled.  But  at  the  same  time 
I  must  declare  that  I  had  often  heard  of 
this  invention  of  Satan  called  Chasse-galcrie ; 
I  had  even  seen  it.  as  I  have  already  said, 
in  broad  daylight,  right  in  front  of  the  c'^  xh 
of  St.  Jean  Deschaillons ;  and  I  shall  not 
deny  that  1  was  rather  anxious  to  know  how 
those  scamps  managed  the  infernal  machine. 
In  fact,  my  friends,  to  tell  you  the  whole 
truth,  I  had  a  kind  of  notion  to  witness  the 
thing  with  my  own  eyes. 

"  Well,    what    have    yow    to    say   to    this, 
uncle  Joe  ?  "    said  Titange,   "  are   you   in    it  ?  " 

"  Ma  friinc!  o\d    fellow,"   said    I,   "  I    don't 
say  no.     Are  you  sure   there  is   no   danger  ?  " 

"  Not   the  slightest.     I'll   go  bail  for  that." 

"Well,  I  think   I'll  chime  in." 

"  Well  done  !     I   may  depend   upon   you  ?  " 

"  Honest !     When  shall  we  start  ?  " 

"  As   soon  as  the   boss   is   asleep  ;    at  half- 
past    nine,    the   latest." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  You    know    where    the    big    drive    canoe 
lies  ?  " 

234 


] 


lada 

h  profanity 

same  time 

heard     of 

ssi'-galcn'c  ; 

ready   said, 

the  c'^    ,-ch 

shall     not 

know  how 

.1   machine. 

the    whole 

fitness   the 

y  to    this, 

)u  in    it  ?  " 

,  "I    don't 

danger  ? " 

for  that." 

ion   you  ?  " 

?" 

;   at  half- 


ive    canoe 


Titange 

"  Yes." 

"That's  the  one  we'll  take;  don't  fail  to 
be  there  in  time.  In  less  than  half  an  hour 
we'll  be  at  old  Doucet's.  And  then,  hurrah, 
boys,  with  the  'double-double,'  the  gigm 
simple,  and  the  'pigeon-wings.'  You'll  see, 
uncle  Joe,  how  we  twist  up  a  midnight  mas.s, 
we   boys   of  Three   Rivers ! " 

And  so  saying  the  rash  fellow  started  a 
quickstep  on  his  piece  of  timber,  clogging 
his  heels  as  if  he  had  been  already  hopping 
at  old  Calice  Doucet's,  with  the  girls  of  the 
Banlieue  of  Three   Rivers. 

As  for  me,  my  friends,  I  was  far  from 
feeling  so  merry.  In  fact,  I  was  more  than 
ill  at  ease,  I  was  dreadfully  scared ;  but  I 
had    my  plan,   of  course. 

So,  I  wasn't  late  on  the  spot.  At  half- 
past  nine  sharp,  and  before  the  others  had 
turned  out,  I  had  time  to  pin  a  small  pic- 
ture of  the  Infant  Jesus  right  on  the  stem 
of  the  craft. 

"There!"  said  I  to  myself,  "this  is 
stronger   than    all    the   ev 


an    an    tne   evil    spn-its    of   ( 
tion  :    we  shall   see   what's   going   to   h; 

235 


I  ; 


jamna- 
ippen." 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"  All  aboard,  all  aboard,  quick ! "  whis- 
pered Titange,  falling  in  with  four  other 
worthless  chaps,  and  taking  his  place  at  the 
stern.  "  Uncle  Joe,  you  have  keen  eyes,  sit 
in  front.  The  others  at  the  paddles  !  No 
scapulars   on    any   of  you  ? " 

"  No." 

"  No  medals  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Nothing   holy,   you    understand  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  All  right,  then.  You  are  ready !  Atten- 
tion now  .  .  .  !  Let  every  one  repeat  after 
me  : 

Satan,  our  master  fair. 
Heave  us  t(p  in  the  air  .  .  , 

IVin^s^,  wang,  woni^  ! 

IVong,  waug,  wing  ! 

Drive  us  along 
On  the  nighfs  dark  wing  !  .  .  . 

Now   paddle  on  !  paddle  on,  boys !   .   .    . 
Damn   it,   paddle  on !  .  .  .  ." 

But  it  was  no  go,  my  friends.  Vainly  did 
Titange  and  his  comrades  paddle  as  if  to 
save    their   lives,   the   canoe  didn't   stir. 

236 


^L■.■^i*■*Xttil.i-*ilthSl^Jtltiti^lMix.^Mit-ilti^liiJl.. 

Titaiiffe 


"  How  is  this  ?  "  shouted  out  Titange,  with 
a  dreadful  oath.  "You  did  not  repeat  cor- 
rect  after  me  ;    let   us   begin   over   again  !  " 

We  began  over  again,  but  it  was  no  use ; 
the  craft  remained  motionless  in  the  snow, 
like   a   dead    trunk. 

"  By  damnation ! "  cried  Titange  with  a 
string  of  oaths  ;  "  some  of  you  are  cheating. 
Step  out,  one  after  the  other,  we  shall  see 
who   is   the  confounded    traitor." 

We  stepped  out  one  after  the  other  as 
he  said  ;  but  for  no  good  ;  the  machine  did 
not   move   an    inch. 

"By  all  thunders!"  swore  out  the  little 
man,  "  I  shall  go  alone  ;  and  may  all  the 
devils  of  the  St.  Maurice  hang  the  whole  set 
of  you  by  the  neck  .  .  .  Satan,  our  master 
fair  .  .  .  ." 

And  the  reprobate  went  on  with  the 
devilish    imprecation. 

But,  far  from  travelling  "  on  the  night's 
dark  wing,"  Titange  couldn't  jump  over  a 
fence,  and  we  didn't  see  even  the  wing  of  a 
bat. 

The  canoe  was   frozen   dead. 
237 


I 


■I      ! 


1 1      : 


i    I 


.■;  t 


I 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Then,  my  friends,  it  was  a  tempest  the 
sole  remembrance  of  which  makes  my  hair 
stand    on    end. 

"  My  axe !  my  axe  !  where  is  my  axe  ? " 
yelled  the  ranter;  "I'll  kill!  I'll  murder!  I'll 
massacre  !  .   .   .     My  axe,  I  tell  you  !  " 

Bad  luck!  there  was  one  at  the  bottom 
of  the  canoe.  He  grabbed  the  tool,  and 
standing  up  straight  on  one  of  the  cross- 
ings, wild  with  rage,  he  swung  it  three  or 
four  times  around  his  head  like  a  desperate 
maniac. 

It  was  terrible;  but  at  the  same  time  it 
was  a  real  curiosity,  my  friends,  to  see  this 
insignificant  little  bit  of  a  man  who  looked 
hke  a  consumptive  mosquito,  raising  such  an 
infernal  row.  A  pack  of  mad  hounds  couldn't 
have   been    more  noisy. 

The   whole   shanty   flocked   out,   of  course, 
and   witnessed  the  dreadful  scene. 

Titange  had   it  in   for  the  canoe  now: 
"  You    accursed    rascal,"  he  cried,  "  I  have 
said    all    the   words    correct:    you    must   start, 
or  I'll  know  the  reason  why." 

And    saying   so,    he   darted   forth  with   his 
238 


U  V 


jaifl—Mw 


mada 

tempest    the 
:cs    my    hair 

my  axe  ? " 
murder!  I'll 
ou  !  " 

the   bottom 
tool,    and 
the    cross- 
it   three   or 
1  desperate 

Tie  time  it 
to  see  this 
.'ho  looked 
ig  such  an 
ds  couldn't 

of  course, 

now: 

,  " r  have 
lust   start, 

with   his 


Titange 

axe,  to  demolish   the  bow  of  the  craft,  where 
my  little  picture  stood  fast  on   the   stem. 

Goodness  of  my  soul !  we  had  time  only 
to  utter  a  cry.  The  axe,  catching  in  a  branch, 
had  whirled  out  of  his  hand,  and  fiillen  back 
right  on  the  outstretched  arm  of  the  mis- 
creant, whom  the  shock  had  hurled  headlong 
to   the    bottom  of  the   canoe. 

The  sinews  of  his  wrist  were  clean 
cut  .   .   . 

At  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  the  whole 
shanty,  moved  by  the  terrible  ordeal,  knelt 
do  ,n  for  once,  and  fervently  offered  an  hon- 
est   prayer   to   the   newly   born    Redeemer. 

On  New  Year,  an  old  missionary  visited 
our  camp,  and  we,  as  one  man,  confessed  our 
sins — Titange   first   of  all. 

Full  of  repentance,  and  confused  for  hav- 
ing so  poorly  succeeded  in  putting  le  bon 
Dieu  en  cache,  he  moreover  took  advantage 
of  the  good  priest's  company  to  make  his 
way  down  to  Three  Rivers,  without  thinking 
for  a  moment,  I'D  stake  my  word  for  it,  of 
sparking  with  the  girls  at  old  Calice  Doucet's 
of  the  Banlieue. 

239 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Some  two  years  later,  happening  to  stop 
at  the  St.  Maurice  Forges,  I  saw,  on  the 
steps  of  the  chapel,  a  poor  ailing  beggar 
holding  out  a  hand  with  fingers  crooked,  dis- 
torted and  twisted  like  a  Christmas  croquig- 
nole. 

I  drew  near  to  give  him  a  penny  :  it  was 
my  former  timber  mate,  old  Johnny  Moris- 
sette's    little   angel :    Titange ! 

And  cric^  crac !   ...     Et   cetera. 


340 


aomti 


yaiiad 

a 

2ning 

to   stop 

saw, 

on    the 

ailing 

beggar 

crooked,  dis- 

>tmas 

croquig- 

>enny 

it  was 

uhnny 

Moris- 

^ujs:.€.^ 


^_yhe   Loup  Garou     \ 


AVE     you     heard     that     la 
belle     Merance    a     Glaude 
— i  ')        Couture*    is    going    to    be 
TTWJ^yA         married?" 

"Well,     she     is;      the 

*  The  prc-scnt  st.i-y  is  not  wholly  ori^rimil,  some  of  its  fealures 
hems  traditional  among  our  peasants  uiuier  more  o;-  less  dilTerent 
forns.  The  louf,.,^r„r„„  is  nothin-  else  than  the  wehrwoif  of  the 
Get.nan  letjend  founded   on   the  helief  that   some  people  could   trans- 

241 


fc^j^^q^ittCEaiM 


^^..^    ;^i?R'M 


ff^^-' 


i         . 


■  1 


Oliristmas  in  French  Canada 

banns   are   to   be    published    next   week." 

"  Married    to   whom  ?  " 

"  Guess." 

"  It's  pretty  hard  to  guess  :  /a  belle 
Merance  is  surrounded  with  sweethearts  hy 
the  score  every  Sunday  that  God  brings 
along." 

"  With    Ikiptistc    Octcau,    I    bet !  ' 

"  No." 

"  It  must  be  to  Damase  Lapointe,  tiien." 

"  Not  at  all.  .  .  Ma  foi,  it's  just  as  well  to 
tell  you  at  once :  she  is  going  to  be  married 
to  Captain  Gosselin,  of  St.  Nicolas." 

"  To  Captain  Gosselin,  of  St.  Nicolas  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"Well  I   declare!" 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  " 

"  She  is  to  take  such  a  miscreant  ? " 

"  Well,   the   fellow   is    well   off,  you   know ; 


form  themselves  into  wolves  at  ple.isure.  In  French  Canada,  though, 
a  moral  has  heen  aJJed  to  the  fantastic  tradition  :  the  loiifi-gnrou, 
here,  is  not  ,i  sorcerer,  hut  a  victim  of  irreligion.  A  man  who  has 
been  seven  years  without  partaking  of  the  Easter  Sacrament  falls  a 
prey  to  the  infernal  power,  and  m.iy  he  condemned  to  rove  about 
every  night  in  the  shape  and  skin  of  a  wolf,  or  any  other  kind  of 
,'inim.tl,  according  to  the  n.iture  iif  his  sins.  A  hloody  womul  imly  can 
release  him. 


Vi\ 


h.' 


H<K--,.A--„i3B8Sm 


The  Loui)-Garon 

He  has  made  her  a  present  of  a  nice  gold 
brooch  and  a  diamond  ring,  and  Mcrance 
doesn't   sneer   at   that,    I    tell   you." 

"Any  how!  I  wouldn't  marry  him,  even 
though  he  were  a  scigncio;  and  owned  all 
the   farms   of  the   parish." 

"Neither  I:    a  man  who  has  no  religion.." 
"Who   has    not   fulfilled    his    Easter   duties 
for   years.   .   .  " 

"Who    never   goes    to   church.    .    .    " 
"Nor   to   confession.    .   .    " 
"Who  is  going  to  be  bewitched   into  some 
horrible   loup-garou   some   da>'." 

"  It's  doomed  fate  for  him,  if  he  passes 
seven  years  without  absolution  for  his  sins." 
"  Poor  Mcrance,  it's  too  bad  !  .  ,  " 
"'Tis  no  fun  to  have  your  husband  con- 
verted every  evening  into  a  beast  roaming 
wildly  along  the  roads,  through  the  woods, 
God  knows  where.  I  would  just  as  soon 
marry   old    Harry   himself" 

"  It   is   true   tiiat  there  would  be  a  means 
of  releasing   him." 
"How?" 

"By  wounding  him,  of  course;  by  pricking 
243 


f 


'W    b 


1 

I 


t 


m 


( i 


ii 


ijii 


Cliristmas  in  French  Canada 

his  forehead,  by  cutting  his  ear,  his  nose,  his 
tail,  anything  at  all,  with  some  sharp  instru- 
ment,  the   main   thing   being   to  draw  blood." 

"  And   the   beast  will   be  again   a   man  ? " 

"At  once." 

"  Why,  thanks  !  As  for  me,  I  prefer  a 
man    that   needs   not   to   be   bled." 

"So   do    I,"   exclaimed   all   the   girls. 

"  You  believe  in  such  silly  tales ! "  cri  i 
a   voice  :     "  you   set   of  fools  !  " 

The  foregoing  conversation  was  held  at 
an  old  farmer's  of  St.  Antoine  de  Tilly, 
where  a  number  of  young  people  from  the 
neighborhood  had  gathered  for  an  i<p\:-kctte 
de  ble-d'hide — corn  bee — which  was  to  be 
followed    by   a   griddle   cake   rcvcillon. 

As  can  be  seen,  the  company  was  indulg- 
ing in  a  general  chat ;  and  from  one  subject 
to  the  other,  the  loup-garou  legend  had  fallen 
on    the   tapis. 

Of  course  it  is  useless  to  add  that  the 
scene  takes  us  back  to  a  great  many  years 
ago,  for — fortunately — our  country  folk  give 
but  very  little  attention  now  to  these  queer 
superstitions  of  the   past. 

244 


.15 
I 

5 


The  Loup-Garou 

The  interruption  brou^'ht  cnit  by  the  last 
speaker  is,  besides,  an  evidence  that,  even  in 
those  days,  and  amony  our  iUiterate  people, 
these  mysterious  traditions  found  some  un- 
believers. 

"  All  these  are  f^randmother's  stories  !  " 
added  the  same  voice  in  answer  to  he 
almost  unanimous  protest  to  whicli  die 
irreverent    sally    had    given    rise. 

"l^ut,  tut,  tut!  .  .  It  is  not  well  to  treat 
one's  own  grandmother  with  contempt,  my 
young  fellow!"  intervened  an  old  woman, 
who,  taking  n-  part  in  the  cpluchcttc,  pur- 
sued silently  her  knitting  at  the  light  of 
the  hearth,  which  threw  fitful  and  inter- 
mittent glimmers  on  her  long  wrinkled 
face, 

"  Old  people  know  more  than  the  young," 
added  she ;  "  and  when  you  have  trod  my 
path,  you'll  not  be  so  ready  to  scoff  at  those 
who    believe   in    the   old   stories." 

"  So  you  believe  in  loup-garons,  mother 
Catherine?"  said  the  young  interrupter  with 
a    provoking   smile. 

"  Had  you  known  Joachim  Crete  as  I 
245 


ssasi 


I 


:    I. 


*!i 


I' 


m 


Cliiistina;  in  Fiondi  Canada 

have,    you    could    not     but    believe    in    them 
also,    my    friend,"    retorted    the   old    woman. 

"I  have  already  heard  of  that  story  of 
Joachim  Cn^te,''  said  one  of  the  hearers  ; 
"why  shouldn't  you  tell  it,  mother  Gather' 
ine?" 

I  have  no  objection,  said  she,  dipping 
her  thumb  and  fore-finger  into  an  old  horn 
snuff-box.  It  docs  not  harm  young  folks 
to  know  what  may  happen  to  those  who 
have  no  respect  for  religion  and  sneer  at 
things  they  do  not  understand.  It's  an  old 
saying  with  me  that  the  fear  of  God  is  never 
out   of  place. 

Unfortunately,  poor  Joachim  Cr^te  didn't 
think   so. 

He  was  not  precisely  what  may  be  called 
a  wicked  man,  oh  no!  but  he  was  like  many 
others  of  our  own  time :  he  thought  of  God 
and  performed  his  duties  only  when  he  had 
nothing  else  to  do.  This  is  not  what  helps 
a    man   ahead,   my   friends. 

He  wouldn't  have  cheated  a  neighbor  out 
of  a  copper,  no  doubt ;  he  observed  Lent  and 
Fridays  as  well  as  anyone,  the)-  said.     But  he 

246 


The  Lonp-Garou 

partook  of  the  holy  sacraments  at  Easter-time 
only — once  a  year  and  no  more  ;  he  winked 
jecrin^l)-  when  somebody  spoke  of  the  church 
collection.^;  and  besides,  wilhoul  being  a  regu- 


'^  Joachim  Crete  was  propnetor  of  a  mill." 

lar  drunkard,  he  was  fond  enough  of  the  drop 
to  go  to  bed,  every  Saturday  night,  too  fuddled 
to  mind  if  his  mill  was  running  on  Sunday. 
For    I    must    tell    you,    my    friends,    that 
247 


1 1 ; 


fi 

I    rii 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

Joachim  Crete  was  proprietor  of  a  mill,  a 
cor.i  mill,  situated  in  the  owcrss/ou  of  Beaus^- 
jour,   on    the   little   river   called    La   Rigole. 

Of  course  it  wasn't  anything  like  a 
sei-neurial  mill,  but  it  worked  the  best  it 
could,  and  ground  its  oats  and  corn,  any 
way.  r  fancy  I  can  see  it  yet,  the  old 
mill,  seated  right  alongside  the  c/uwim  du 
nn.  When  we  used  to  go  to  catechism  for 
our  first  communion,  we  little  folk  never 
failed    to    stop    there    for    a    rest. 

There  it  was  that  I  got  acquainted  with 
the  wretched  man-a  mar.  about  forty,  who 
had  no  objection  to  tease  little  girls,  I  may 
add    without   any   mischievous   meaning. 

As  he  was  unmarried,  he  had  fixed  up 
a  small  dwelling  inside  the  mill,  where  he 
lived  like  a  bear  with  a  hired  man  by  the 
name  of  Hubert  Sauvageau,  a  fellow  who 
had  travelled  in  the  pays  d'en  haut,  who 
had  lived  on  the  rafts,  who  had  been 
knocking  about  for  years,  without-it  was 
evident— having  learned  much  for  the  benefit 
of  his   soul. 

How  had  he  come  to  settle  at  St  Antoine 
248 


The  Loup-Garou 

after  such  wanderings  ?  Nobody  ever  knew, 
All  I  can  say  is  that  if  Joachim  Crete  was 
not  exactly  <^  model  for  the  parish,  it  was 
not  his  hired  man  who  could  give  him  lessons 
on   principles,   as   people   say. 

With  all  deference  to  the  company,  the 
fellow  had  no  more  religion  than  a  dog. 
Never  was  he  seen  at  church ;  never  did  he 
take  off  his  hat  to  the  Calvary ;  he  hardly 
saluted  the  cure  with  the  end  of  his  fin<Ters 
when  he  met  him  on  the  road.  In  fact,  he 
was   a   man    of  poor   reputation    indeed. 

"What's  all  this  to  me?"  said  Joachim 
Crete  when  the  matter  was  referred  to  in 
his  presence  ;  "  he  is  a  quiet  fellow  who 
never  faints  at  work ;  he  is  reliable,  just  as 
sober  as  myself;  he  eats  no  more  than 
another,  and  plays  checkers  to  put  in  the 
time  with  me :  nobody  would  give  me 
better  satisfaction,  even  though  he  wore 
out  his  knees,  from  morning  till  night,  at 
le   cheniin   de   la    Croix." 

As  you  see  by  his  own  words,  Joachim 
Crete  was  a  checker  player.  And  a  good 
one    too,   for    if    anybody    had    ever    won    a 

249 


'^m^mm 


I 


M: 


!',?■! 


i%i     I 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

game  of  polonaise  against  him  no  one  in  all 
St.  Antoine  could  boast  of  having  seen  him 
lose   more   than   a  pnrtie  simple. 

But  one  must  suppose  that  the  fellow 
Sauvageau  was  a  pretty  good  match  for  him, 
as— especially  when  the  miller  had  returned 
home  from  town  in  the  course  of  the  day 
with  a  demijohn— those  who  passed  by  the 
mill  in  the  evening  heard  them  yell,  each 
one  in  his  turn:  ''Mange!  Souffle!  Franc 
coin!  Partie  nulle!"  And  so  forth,  as  in  a 
rage   of  ambition. 

But  let  me  reach  the  adventure  you  wish 
me   to   relate. 

On  that  day— it  was  Christmas  Eve— and 
Joachim  Crete  had  returned  from  Quebec 
rather  tipsy,  and  —  useless  to  add— with  a 
fine  stock  of  supplies  in  the  box  of  his 
cariole   for   the   festivities. 

The   whole   mill    was   in    merriment. 
My  grand    uncle,  old   Jose   Corriveau,  who 
had   a   bagful   of  grain    to    mill,   called  in  the 
evening   and   said   to   Joachim   Crete: 

"You  are   going   to  attend  midnight  mass, 
of  course  ?  " 

250 


1 

■Laa 


iiilU-t,*UiMiH:,U.-i{4iMtiimititiliiJi 


The  Loup-Garou 

A  grin  was  the  only  answer.  It  was 
Hubert  Sauvageau  coming  in,  and  seating 
himself  in   a   corner  with   his   pipe. 

"We   shall   see   about  that,"   he   said. 

"  No  joke,  young  men  !  "  added  old 
Corriveau,  walking  out ;  "  the  midnight  mass 
is   not   a   thing   to   be   missed." 

And   he   left,   with   his   whip   in   his   hand. 

"  Ha  !  ha  I  ha !  .  .  "  laughed  Sauvageau ; 
"  but  we  shall  first  play  a  game  of  checkers, 
won't   we,   monsieur   Joachim  ? " 

"  Ten  if  you  wish,  old  fellow  ;  but  before 
all,  we  must  have  a  smile,"  was  the  reply. 

And  the  spree  had  commenced. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock,  a  neighbor  by  the 
name  of  Vincent  Dub6  knocked  at  the  door : 

"  Look  here,  Joachim,"  said  he,  "  if  you 
want  a  place  in  my  der/of  to  go  to  the  mid- 
night mass,  there  is  one  for  you,  as  I  am 
alone   with   the   old   woman." 

"Thank  vou,  I've  got  my  own  horse," 
answered   Joachim    Crete. 

"  Are  they  going  to  bother  us  much 
longer  with  their  midnight  mass?"  grumbled 
Hubert  Sauvageau  when  the   door  was  closed. 

25» 


fr, 


"  ttaOTll>llll|||||lg||',riii|-| 


i 


■ii  fc 


r, 
1  ■ 


i     ■  1 


>  :l:iii 


■'I  ■  I, 


Christmas  in  Froiich  Canada 

"Let    LIS    have   a    drink,"   said    the    miller. 
And    hurrah    with     the    glasses     and     the 
checkers ! 

The  people  who  passed  by,  going  to 
church,  riding  or  on  foot,  said  to  each 
other  : 

"Why,  Joachim  Crete's  mill  is  still  run- 
ning ;    he    must    have    quantities    to   grind." 

"  Surely  he  won't  go  on  working  on 
Christmas,    will    he  ?  " 

"  I    wouldn't    be   surprised." 
"Especially  if  his   accursed  Sauvageau  has 
a   hand    in    it.  .  .  " 

And  so  on.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  mill 
went  on  rolling,  the  game  of  checkers  didn't 
stop,  and  the  drinking  continued.  Toasts 
were    endless. 

Some   one   knocked    at   the   window : 
"  Hold    on,    you    fellows  ;    it's    near   twelve. 
The   last   bell   is   pealing.      It's  not  very  Chris- 
tian-like,   what    you    are    doi:''^    there." 
Two  voices  answered  : 
"  Go  to  blazes  !     Let  us  have  peace  !  " 
The    last    passers-by   vanished.      And    the 
mill    went   on    rolling.       As    the   weather   was 

252 


mada 

the    miller, 
■s     and     the 

,    ^^oin<^r     to 
d     to     each 

s    still    run- 
)    grind." 
lorking     on 


ivageau  has 

:?,  the  mill 
k-ers  didn't 
d.       Toasts 

dow  : 

ear   twelve. 

very  Chris- 

re. 

:ace ! " 

And    the 
father   was 


i^  LiHtk  here  Juachhii,  if  you   imiil  a    pluer    in 
my  berlot,  there  itt  one    for  you'  \\x^.- is' 


Yi' 


',1 

0" 

'  i  ■' 

'^^SSSmesM 


I 


The  Loiip-Garou 


calm  and  quiet,  its  runiblint,^  noise  was  heard 
afar,  and  the  good  peojjlc  hurried  away,  mak- 
ing   the    sign    of  the    Cross    on    their    breast. 

Although  the  church  was  nearly  two  miles 
distant  from  the  mill  Joachim  Crete  could 
hear  -learly  the  sound  of  the  bell.  At  the 
last    toll    he    felt    a    kind    of  remorse : 

"Tis  twelve,"  said  he;  "if  we  rai.sed  the 
paddle -door.  .  .  " 

"  Pshaw  !  are  you  such  a  poltroon  ? "  said 
Sauvageau.  "  Here  !  let  us  have  a  horn,  and 
then  I'll  make  you  capot." 

"  Ah  !  well,  as  to  that,  you  are  not  fit  for 
it,  my  young  man.  .  .  Help  yourself,  and 
here's    your    luck  !  " 

"  Here's  yours,  monsieur  Joachim." 
They   had   barely   replaced    their   tumblers 
on   the   table,  when  the  last  sound  of  the  bell 
passed   over   the   mill   like   a   whisper    in    the 

wind. 

It  was  as  rapid  as  thought.  .  .  Crac!  .  . 
the  mill  was  .stopped  dead,  just  as  if  a  thun- 
derbolt had  broken  the  machi'iery.  A  deep 
silence  followed,  through  which  one  could  have 
heard    the   creeping   of  a   mouse. 

253 


i 


if»'^af^' 


' 


.!•!, 


..( ' 


'i: 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

"What's   the   matter^"   cried   out  Joachim 
Crete. 

"Some   impudent   jokers,   no    doubt,"  said 
the   hired    man. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see,  quick  ! " 
A  lantern  was  h"t,  and  our  two  checker 
players  started  with  uncertain  step  in  the 
direction  of  the  undershot-wheel.  But  vainly 
did  they  search  and  poke  everywhere;  all 
was  in  good  order,  nothing  seemed  to  have 
bet.i    interfered    with. 

"This  is  most  extraordinar)-,"  they  said, 
quite   nonplussed. 

At  all  events,  they  oiled  the  machine, 
started  her  again,  and  returned  to  their 
checker-board  —  not  without  making  their 
first    call    at    the   table,    though. 

"Your  health,  Hubert." 

"This  is   to  yours,   monsieur  Joachim." 

But  hardly  were  the  glasses  emptisd,  when 
the  two  men  started  staring  at  each  other 
with  a  bewildered  expression  :  they  were 
beastly  drunk  first  of  all,  and  then  the 
mill    had    become    silent    once    more. 

"  Some    confounded    rascals    have    thrown 
254 


iiada 

ut  Joachim 

oubt,"  said 


/o  checker 
ep  in  the 
But  vainly 
ivhere ;  all 
d   to  have 

they   said, 

machine, 

to     their 

:ing     their 


achim." 

:ied,  when 

ich    other 

hey    were 

then     the 

e. 

e    thrown 


The  Loup  Garou 

rubbish    into  the   grindstones,"   muttered   Joa- 
chim  Crete. 

"Let  the  devil  wring  my  neck,"  jabbered 
Sauvageau,    "if  we    don't    find   what's   wrong 

this  time." 

And  here  are  once  more  our  two  drunk- 
ards, lantern  in  hand,  prowling  everywhere 
about  the  mill,  stumbling  and  tripping  on 
everything   they   came   across. 

But  all  uselessly  ;  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  either  in  the  grindstones  or  elsewhere- 
The  marhine  was  started  again,  but 
ouic/i/e!  half  a  turn  of  the  wheel,  and  that 
was  all.  The  whole  mechanism  was  at  a 
dead    stand   still. 

"  The  Devil  take  the  whole  concern  !  " 
yelled   out   Joachim   Crete;   "let   us   go!" 

A  desperate  oath  was  uttered.  Hubert 
Sauvageau,  who  had  urobably  entangled 
his  feet  in  some  kind  of  obstacle,  had 
fallen   headlong   on   the    floor   like   a   helpless 

brute. 

The  lantern  had  gone  out  of  his  hand, 
to  be  sure;  so  that  it  was  pitch  dark,  and 
Jcachim   Crete,  who  had   all   he    could   do  to 

ass 


l-ljMM 


mmm 


Christmas  in  French  Canad.i 

steer  himself,  li;ul  no  j^'reat  miiul  to  ^o  to 
the    rescue   of  his    companion. 

"  Let  the  rogue  look  after  himself  as  best 
he   can!"    said  he;    "I'm  ^o'mg    for    a    drink." 

And  by  the  dim  light  of  the  candle  which 
glimmered  in  the  distance  through  the  half- 
opened  door,  he  succeeded,  after  many  stum- 
bles and  slips,  to  worm  his  way  into  the 
room,  where  he  entered  without  closing  the 
door  behind  him,  so  as  to  give  the  loiterer 
a   chance   to   do   the   saine. 

As  soon  as  he  had  passed  the  threshold, 
you  ma)'  well  imagine  that  his  first  thought 
was  to  go  right  to  the  table  where  the  glasses 
and  bottles  stood  ;  but  as  he  was  pouring  out 
a  gobletful  of  rum,  swinging  on  his  hips,  he 
heard  behind  his  back  something  like  a  groan. 

"  That's  you  ?  "  he  said  without  turning  ; 
"  here   you  are,   come   on  ! " 

Another  moaning  answered,  stror.ger  than 
the   first. 

"What's  the  matter?  .  .  Did  you  hurt 
yourself?  .  .    Have  a  drink,   that ..    cure  you." 

But    no    one    apfieared    nor    responded. 

Quite      surprised,     Jijachim     Crete     turned 

2$6 


~L 


'W'Wttdf^ttf^jp  i^^ 


luad.i 

(I     to    ^o    to 

nself  as  best 
"or   a   drink." 
candle  which 
gh   the   half- 
many  stum- 
ay    into    the 
closing    the 
the   loiterer 

le  threshold, 
first  thought 
e  the  glasses 
pouring  out 
his  hips,  he 
like  a  groan. 
)ut    turning  ; 


trotiger   than 


J    you    hurt 
..    cure  you." 
responded. 
,rete     turned 


The  Loiip-Gaiou 

around,  laying  his  glass  on  the  tabic,  and 
stood  terrified,  with  eyes  fearfully  fixed  and 
his   hair  standing  on   end. 

It  wasn't  at  all  Hubert  Sauvageau  who 
was  facing  him ;  it  was  a  huge  black  dog, 
as  tall  as  a  man,  with  formidable  teeth, 
sitting  on  his  haunches,  and  who  stared  at 
him   with   eyes   blazing   like   embers. 

Without  being  a  hero,  the  miller  was  not 
precisely  a  coward  :  after  his  first  impression 
of  terror,  he  plucked  up  courage  and  called 
out   to    Hubert. 

"Who   has   let    this   dog   in?" 

No   answer. 

"  Hubert  ! "  he  insisted,  stammering  with 
a   thick   voice ;    "  where  this    dog    come 

from  ?  " 

Not   a   word. 

"Why,  that's  rather  cool.  .  .  Get  out  of 
this,  you  ! " 

The  big  dog  gave  a  growl  that  sounded 
like   a   bit     'f  laughter,  but   didn't  stir  a   foot. 

And    Hubert   was    nowhere   to   be   seen. 

Joachim  was  anything  but  merry,  as  you 
may   reckon.      He    couldn't    understand   what 

257 


^t 


-  '^^'^ev^a^^ilt^^} 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

was  going  on;  and  as  a  dreadful  fright  was 
creeping  over  him  again  he  thought  of  mak- 
ing for  the  door.  But  the  terrible  dog  had 
only  to  turn  his  head  with  his  blazing  eyes 
to  bar  tlic  way.  Seeing  this,  the  poor  man 
crawled  backwards  to  take  refuge  between 
the  table  and  the  bed,  without  losing  sight 
of  the   monster. 


"  And  he  fell  on  his  knees." 

The  latter  advanced  a  few  steps  with 
another   hellish   growl. 

"Hubert!"  cried  out  the  unfortunate  man 
in   a   tone   of  horrible   anguish. 

The  dog  kept  moving  towards  him,  erect 


H 


ititjua^gii 


mtimmfmm 


ards  him,  erect 


The  Loup-Garou 

on  his  legs,  growling  more  and  more,  and 
keeping  his  burning  eyes  fastened  on  the 
trembling  man. 

"  Help !  help !  .  .  "  howled  Joachim  Crete, 
crazy  with  fear,  and  backing  himself  up  to 
the   wall. 

None  answered  his  call,  but  at  that  very 
moment  the  church  bell  pealing  for  the  Ele- 
vation  was   heard. 

Then  a  thought  of  repentance  passed 
through   the   brains   of  the    wretched    man. 

"It  is  a  loup-garou!"  cried  he;  "my  God, 
forgive   me ! " 

And   he   fell   on    his   knees. 

At  the  same  time  the  infernal  beast  darted 
upon  him. 

Fortunately  the  poor  miller,  while  kneeling 
down,  had  felt  something  on  the  wall  that 
caught   him    by   the    clothes. 

It   was   a   reaping-hook. 

The  man  instinctively  seized  the  weapon 
and    hit   the   brute   right   on   the   head. 

It  was  the  matter  of  one  instant.  Every- 
thing disappeared  in  the  dark.  In  the  struggle, 
short  as  it  had  been,  the  table  had  been  over- 

"59 


r  , ! 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

turned,  and  the  glasses,  bottles  and  candle 
were   scattered    on    the   floor. 

As  to  Joachim  Crete,  he  had  fainted  away. 

When  he  returned  to  his  senses,  somebody 
was  throwing  cold  water  in  his  face,  and  a 
well-known   voice   was   saying : 

"What  has  been  the  matter  with  you, 
monsieur  Joachim?" 

"  Is   that   you,    Hubert  ? " 

"  As   you   see." 

"Where   is   he?" 

"  Whom   do  you    mean  ? " 

"The   dog." 

'•Which   dog?" 

"  The   loiip-garou." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  The  lotip-garou   I   have  released  with  my 
reaping-hook." 

"Good    Heavens/    have    you    gone    mad. 
Monsieur   Joachim?" 

"  I    have    not   dreamt   that   surely.  .  .  And 
yourself,   where   are   you   from?" 

"From   the   mill." 

"  I    see   it   is    running   now,   the   mill.   .   .  ''■ 

"You   can    hear   it." 
260 


tf,  I  s 


anada 

and    candle 

ainted  away. 

Js,  somebody 

face,  and  a 

'    with    you, 


id  with  my 
gone  mad, 
:ly.  .  .  And 

:    mill.   .   .'' 


The  Loup-Garou 

"Go  and  stop  it  right  off;  it  must  not 
work   on   Christmas." 

"  Why,  Christmas  is  passed,  it  was  yester- 
day." 

"How   is   that?" 

"You  have  been  senseless  for  two  days, 
that's   all." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  .  .  But  what  is  ^he 
matter  v/ith  your  ear?   .   .   Blood!" 

"  That's   nothing." 

"How    r.'   you   get  that?     Speak  out!" 

"Do-  remember  I   had  a  fall  in  the 

mill   on   Christmas   Eve?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I  cut  my  ear  on  the  edge  of  a 
pail." 

Joachim  Crete,  my  friends,  sat  up  on  his 
bed,  haggard  and  shaken  by  a  shiver  of  hor- 
ror.   .   . 

"Ah  !  damnable  wretch  ! "  cried  he  ;  "  it 
was   you !   .   .    " 

And  the  poor  fellow  fell  back  on  his 
pillow,   never   to   recover   his    wits   again. 

He  died  ten  years  later  in  a  lunatic 
asylum. 

361 


11 


1.  I 


l\> 


Christmas  in  French  Canada 

^s    to    the    mill,   jt  was   tr^rr.    j 
earned    away   in    th.  °'""    ^"^ 

"P   of  the   L        ^   ^™''   ^^   ^'^^   ^-^-^ 

..*t'""  "*-"■— '"■"»«. 

of  corn!"  ^"^   ^^^^ 

"Is  that  so?  .      Givpf"      -J  1 

A„  .    .  .  •  ^*^^'     said  he  stealthily 

And  rising  on  his  feet-  ^' 

my  rights!"*  ■■■  .  .  i   cla-m 

And,  to  the   applause   of  all    ft,, 
man    bowed    ,o    his    right   and  '^"""^ 

'oving  .,-ss  o„  the  blush    g  cheerofTI  ' 
neighbor.  °^  ^'^  fair 

"And  so  help  me  Gnri"      -j   , 
all  fh«  "'     s^'d   he,  "that'- 

aM_the  sorcery  I  believe   in!" 

*  III  an  ipiuchetle  de  bli-d'  In^.       v. 


.'1,1.'  ' 


263 


w 


MiM 


■- 1  .jntitiS.  tjmkii 


'nch  Canada 

^'as   torn    down    and 
ng.   at   the   breaking 


L  sweet  voice  in  the 
ose  increduh'ty  had 
tory;   "a   red   head 

said  he  stealthily. 

with  a  joyful   ex- 
^°'"''-'  •  .  I   claim 

^f  all,  the  young 
and  impressed  a 
cheek  of  his  fair 

said   he,  "that's 


'^e>-  finds  a   red  head    of 
s  choice. 


